


Maker's Mark

by LunaMax1214, Sia



Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2015-09-29
Packaged: 2018-03-22 06:03:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3717859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunaMax1214/pseuds/LunaMax1214, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sia/pseuds/Sia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fates collide on a college campus as five people who aren't what they seem are caught in world shaking events that began all because of a lasagna catching fire in a graduate student's oven.   A Dragon Age Modern AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Four months ago…._

“I understand, ma’am.  I’m to keep my distance.  Non-involvement only.  Unless the subject is in actual danger, of course,”  he stood at his window, his cell pressed to his ear.  He didn’t understand this assignment.  Warden Surana was head of Royal Security, but why she wanted this particular random graduate student watched by two active Wardens, only one of which the target was to know about escaped his understanding.   _Ours not to reason why…._ he reminded himself.   And the fireman cover was… odd.  Not that he minded the day-job.  It was one of the better ones he’d had.

He parted the blinds, “The target is approaching, ma’am.”  All he had was a grainy series of telephotos, but that had to be Ash Trevelyan approaching the building.  Bare legs flashing in the winter rain, short black trench coat.  Damp auburn hair tangled and curling halfway to her ass.  The photos didn’t do her justice though.  Wide amber eyes scanned the street and the side of the building where he watched.   _Maker, she’s gorgeous._  He cleared his throat.  “Target has entered the building, ma’am.”

“Good.  Stay alert.  Keep me apprised.”  The Warden’s voice was coldly inflected.  “Surana out.”

* * *

Yet again, the door was broken down.  Ash barely heard it over the screaming smoke detector and the panicked barking of her small dog.  “Shut up, Wrex!  I know it’s scary!  Shut up!”

A familiar smoky, baritone voice called out, “Ma’am?”

“Oh!  Shit!”  The fire alarms must have auto-called 911 when she couldn’t put the flames out in the oven fast enough.  Or keep the appliance from exploding.  She waved a dish-towel in front of her face and coughed to clear her lungs.  Great.  Dinner was ruined, her apartment was going to smoke, her hair was going to smell like smoke.  Her beautiful Little Black Dress she could barely afford and was not going to be able to return — it was going to _reek_ of smoke.  She waved the towel harder and struggled with the window over the kitchen sink to try to get more smoke out.  Not that it would do much good. “Um!  In here!”  

She already knew whose blond head would come around the corner, though she’d prayed she was mistaken in recognizing that voice.  It was followed by his truly impressive set of shoulders clad in the requisite fireman’s white tee, with his jumpsuit tied around his waist. The damned tee highlighted every single well-defined muscle in his torso.  They could use this guy’s picture for every month in the HFD calendar _alone_ and it would sell out in an hour (as it was, he was Mr. July — the one with the centerfold).  Ash put her head in her hands.  It was utterly humiliating how they kept sending the hottest guy in the department every time she lost track of time and nuked her stove.  Which seemed to happen a lot.  “I promise I’m not doing this on purpose!”

The firefighter laughed.  “I wasn’t going to accuse you of anything, Ms. Trevelyan.”  He pulled a chair over and pressed the reset button on the alarm above the stove then held his hand out for the dish-towel as he put the chair back.  “I actually live in the building.”   If possible, her face burned even more red.  He used the towel to open the oven door and a thick, black cloud of smoke billowed out.  She gasped and he jumped back, yanking her from out of the front of the appliance.  Ash suddenly found herself enveloped white cotton and masculine strength and cologne or aftershave that smelled like deep pine forests.  One palm pressed against his chest, the other had gone around his waist in reflex when he’d grabbed her.  What was wrong with her that she wasn’t thinking about the amount of smoke damage or how scared her dog was, but of how it would feel to run her tongue along the contours of each of those muscles and up his neck?   _Get a hold of yourself, you idiot!  You have friends coming for dinner!_

“Are you alright, ma’am?” He pulled away enough to look down at her.  He had a scar on his lip.  How had she not noticed that before?   _Because you’ve never been this close before._ She jerked herself back before she could move any closer to trying to kiss that scar, or let the hand on his back wander lower.

“Uh, yeah.  I thought I put the fire out!  Are you alright, Officer Rutherford?”  

He chuckled, she wanted to roll around in the sound like a cat in catnip.  “Yes, I’m fine.”  He turned and bent to look into the oven and Ash tried very hard to not stare at his ass.  And failed. _Is there anything on this man that isn’t perfect?_

He used the dish-towel from earlier and pulled the smoking remains of a pan of lasagna out of the oven.  “So, you were expecting company?”  

Ash put her head in her hands again.  “Yeah, once in a while a few of us get together and have a fancy dress dinner.  Helps us not feel quite like such broke post-grads, you know?  It was my turn to host… and I ran out of time.”

His eyebrow went up.  “They have timers, you know.  On ovens?”

She rolled her eyes.  “It was set!  I promise!  I was in the shower!  I just couldn’t run out and take it out of the oven.  I was rinsing.”   _Among other things. I was imagining you coming over for non-emergency reasons.  My god, if my face gets any redder…_  “My hair? Washing it takes forever.  Especially with the water pressure I get.”

He laughed, “I get it.  The water pressure in the building is quite terrible.  Well, it um… looks like there’s no danger here…”  He started to walk past her.  

A thought occurred to her, and she reached out to grab his arm.  “Wait a minute… The alarms never actually called the station did they?”  

He turned as red as she felt.  “Um, no, I heard them from upstairs.”

It was her turn to raise her eyebrows, “And you just rushed to my rescue?”

He rubbed the back of his neck and looked away, “Well… I….”

“Hey,” encouraged by the blush and his hesitation, she reached over and turned his head to look at her.  He was blushing even darker.  “Thank you.” She moved to give him a kiss on the cheek, but Wrex, her silly little dog, ran barking into the kitchen and startled them both.  His lips touched hers, accidentally, but, oh, the spark… their eyes met for a heartbeat. _Oh, my god, he has the most gorgeous amber eyes._  At the same time, their arms went around each other and she stumbled backwards as his mouth found hers.  Lips parted and tongues entwined, breath mingled.  She ran one hand over the taut muscles of his chest and the other raked through his blond hair.  One of his hands snaked down and grabbed her ass, holding her against him, the other pressed against the skin of her back, left bare by the dress.  He left her mouth only to nip along her neck.  She arched her back, bringing her leg up wrap around his.  Wrex continued to bark.

“Oh!  I do believe I’ve seen this porn, Iron Bull, what do you think?” Dorian.   _Oh, shit._

“I think, we order take out and come back later.  Give them an hour?” The big football coach was always the more diplomatic of her friends.

“Bollocks to that!  I’m hungry now!  C’mon, Trevy, let’s go. Get yer panties in a bunch later!”  Sera, of course, never was.

Ash froze and so did the firefighter.  He rested his head on her collarbone.  “Please,” she whispered.  “Don’t go.”  

“I should at least change out of my gear.”  

“OK.  Let me um… introduce you?  You can um, stand behind me.”  He took her up on her offer, putting his arms around her waist, but keeping his hips away from her.  “The one with the mustache is Dorian Pavus.  If he successfully defends his thesis next week, he’ll be offered a fellowship to lecture on dark matter at UT.”

“What d’you mean, _if?_  It’s a done deal!”

She smiled.  “The big guy with horns in the Longhorns button-down is Hakeem Hissrad.  Everyone just calls him Iron Bull, though.  He’s the defensive line coach for the Longhorns.  Calls his guys The Chargers.  He’s also an associate professor of history and specializes in the Cold War.”  The big Qunari nodded.

“I’m Sera.  Born in Denerim.  Don’t give a shit, let’s go.  Starving here.”  She rolled her eyes when Ash jerked her chin at Rutherford. “Fine. Professor of Socialist Theory of Economics.  Yep…” Her voice changed to an exaggerated Southern accent.  “I’m an elf.  I teach Socialism to Rednecks.  Makes them mommas and poppas proud!”  

Rutherford burst out laughing against her shoulder.  “I’m uh, Cullen.  Cullen Rutherford.  Firefighter.  I moved into the building a couple of months ago.”

She could tell he was waiting for her to say something.  Dorian prompted, “Yes, darling, do tell the nice man you were sucking face with what your name is and what you do for a living, meager though it is.  Because I doubt you’ve done that already.”

“If I could shoot lightning at you I would, Dorian.”  He made a kissing noise at her and winked.  “Fine.  Ash Trevelyan.  PhD candidate, micro-biology.”

“Beauty and brains.”  He whispered making her shiver.  “I’ll be right back.”

Cullen raced upstairs, taking the stairs two at a time, trying to remember what he had in his closet that would look remotely decent next to that dress.  The dress that would look terrific on the floor next to his bed.   _Whoa, slow down there, tiger.  You haven’t even had one date with the woman._ Hey, this’ll be one date!   _Go find a damned a suit and shut up.  And drop ice down your shorts._  Too bad there wasn’t time for a cold shower.  He probably did stink like smoke.  Though that wasn’t why he wanted the cold shower.   _That kiss.  God.  What was he thinking…_


	2. Chapter 2

In her apartment, Ash was wondering much the same thing about herself.  “All right, spill, Red,” Iron Bull said, taking up her entire love seat.  Wrex immediately took the invitation and hopped onto the big man’s lap.  He put his size 15 black Converse on her coffee table.

“Bull, you’re supposed to be dressed up!”  she scolded, swatting at his feet in between trying to take the pins out of her hair.  

“I am wearing slacks and I have a jacket in the car.  They do not make decent dress shoes for feet my size.  Now, come here and stop that!”  Ash yelped as he yanked her onto his lap, somehow not squishing her dog.  Deftly, his big fingers found all her hairpins faster than she could have just feeling for them.  “Now spill,” he ordered again, as he handed her the pins and started unwinding the braids.

“I tried to make a lasagna for tonight.  Then I took a shower… washed my hair… but the water pressure died halfway, and I couldn’t get the soap out, so I missed the timer…”

“And it bubbled over and caught on fire.”  Dorian sighed and flopped on to the couch, he was careful to not wrinkle his white suit, though.  “You’re lucky I’m psychic and made reservations. And why do you insist on braids?  They make you look 12!  Just because you’re some sort of prodigy and you’re barely old enough to drink, doesn’t mean you need to look it!  Don’t make that Nordic God up there feel like a dirty old man…” he paused, a thought seeming to occur to him, “Or you know?  He may be into that.”

Sera giggled, bringing in three beers.  “Blech. I need a girlfriend.  Listening to you three talk about dicks gets really fuckin’ old.”

Ash stole Iron Bull’s beer before he could take a sip.  He raised his one eyebrow at her.  Ash took the one drink she wanted and handed him the bottle.  He shook his head at Ash then looked pointedly at Sera,  “Hey, I like women, too.  So does Ash, which you know better than anybody.”   

Sera ran her fingers through her hair that still looked like she’d cut it with the most blunt scissors she could find.  She’d dressed up, too.  A long red maxi skirt with a matching sequined top.  “Yeah, yeah.  Still….  Anyway, why’d you lie to the man… I mean, we all know you make with the,” she wiggled her fingers.  Sera had a serious issue with even saying the word, “magic,” much less being around it.  It was one of the reasons she and Ash were no longer together.  That and serious philosophical differences.  “But you do study the theory legally, even if’n yer not all legal n’ shite like he is,” she waved her hand in Dorian’s direction.

“I don’t know… I-- froze.”  She waved in the general direction of her damaged front door.  “You did see him, right? Oh, why am I asking you?”  She turned to Dorian, “You did see him, right?”

“If he wasn’t so obviously straight and we weren’t deep in the middle of backwoods Fereldan, honey, I’d jump Mr. July himself.”  

“Hey!”  Iron Bull objected.

Dorian raised an eyebrow, “Oh, please, like you wouldn’t?”

“Well, not while I was dating _you_.”  Ash watched Dorian visibly melt into the couch cushions and his grey eyes widen.  It was good to see the usually guarded dark-haired man, well… not be so guarded.

The older man shooed her away, “Don’t you have hair to wash or something?” as he took her place on Bull’s lap.  Ash laughed as Sera made gagging noises.

She tried to hurry through washing her hair.  She really did.  But it was far too long and far too thick to wash quickly.   By the time she came out, after making sure the water didn’t ruin her makeup, she was finishing scrunching the last of her curling gel into the ends of her damp hair and found that Cullen had arrived while she was in the bathroom.

And her friends had let him in.  

Dorian had climbed off Iron Bull’s lap at some point to sit next to Cullen on the couch. Sera had moved to perch on a bar stool where she was shredding a beer label.  Bull had put his feet back on the coffee table, of course.  He also looked like he was asleep, letting Dorian give Cullen the third degree.  “So, what did you do before you were a fireman?”

“Ash!”  Mr. July nearly launched himself from the couch.  Her eyes widened and she suppressed the urge to vault Bull’s legs and throw herself at Cullen.  His blond curls were tamed into a thick mane and he wore a black jacket over a crisp white button down shirt.  It was the jeans that were truly the main distraction.  Dark-washed and skin-tight, they ended in heavy black boots with silver edging.  Behind his back, Dorian pantomimed a wolf-whistle.  Ash struggled to keep a straight face.

“I’m glad you could make it.”  She wiggled her fingers, “I, um, need to wash my hands.”   _And keep my heart from pounding out of my chest. And maybe change my undies.  No one has the right to look that good in jeans.  And that was just the front!_ She stared at herself in the mirror as she washed the gel off her fingers.   _Stay calm._ She told herself.   _It’s just dinner._

She came back out to find the firefighter standing alone in the living room, her little brown dog sitting on the couch staring up at him expectantly.  Cullen was staring down at him.  “I’m not sure he approves of me.”

“Wrex?  Well, you haven’t given him a treat yet.  He can’t tell if you’re good people till you’ve given him an appropriate offering.”  She told him, getting the heels Iron Bull had helped her pick out with the dress.  

_“Dorian doesn’t think I should wear black.”  She’d told the larger man.  She’d needed a dress for one of her father’s political fundraisers and only the football coach had been available to go with her.  A notion that had amused both of them at the time._

_“Dorian has the taste of a magpie..  Besides, with red hair, you want it to stand out.  And all those blue dresses were terrible.”  They really had been.  Ruffles were in this year.  She’d shuddered.  He shrugged one shoulder.  They’d since migrated to the shoe department.  “So, black or white.  And you can’t wear white.  I love you, Ash, but you’ll ruin it in five minutes.”  She held up a pair of slingbacks.  “No, absolutely not.  What the hell is the purpose of those things, anyway?”_

_“Um, your toes get cold but your heels don’t?”_

_“Just no.”  He aimed a thick finger at a strappy pair she’d been avoiding looking at.  “Those.”_

_“I can’t afford those,” she told him, relenting and picking them up, trying not to turn pale at the price tag on the sole._

_He snorted.  “Happy birthday.  Look, I respect that you don’t use your parents money or their name to get through school.  No matter they want you to.  And you still try to support them.”  He grinned.  “Besides, I’m the one who has to be seen with you at this thing, right?”_

_She blinked.  He was right.  Dorian would refuse to go because he wouldn’t want to run into any of his family.  Sera would go but only so she could do something embarrassing and possibly cost her father votes.  “I wasn’t going to assume… That doesn’t mean you have to buy me shoes!”_

_“Yes, it does.  Because you’re going to pay me back by dancing with me.”_

She’d argued with him, of course, and ultimately lost.  For a pair of sandals that looked like they’d hurt, they actually felt wonderful.  And she tried to wear them infrequently to preserve them.   Of course, when she got them on and turned to look at Cullen, his eyes were fixated on her legs.   _Thank you, Bull,_ she thought, silently.  She grabbed her clutch.  “Are you ready? I guess they went downstairs?”

“Uh, yeah.  Something about getting the car so you wouldn’t have to ruin those.”  He gestured at the heels.  

She laughed as they walked out of the apartment.  But stopped when she saw the damage to her doorknob and the frame.  “Oh, dear.”  

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck. “I-I’m sorry about that.  I’ll fix it in the morning.”

He looked so adorably upset that she had to do something to make him feel better.  “You were rushing to save my life.”  She still had to stand on her toes to give him a quick kiss at the corner of his mouth.  “Besides, I certainly don’t mind you coming back tomorrow to fix it.”  She turned back to the door and yanked it to, turning the key on the top lock.

He chuckled, his hands going to her waist, pulling her against him.  “Oh, you don’t, do you?”  She felt him bury his face in her hair, apparently not caring it was still a little damp.

She arched her back against him and reached up behind her for the nape of his neck.  “At least the deadbolt still works.”  She felt him nod.  She turned slightly in his arms and one of his hands came up to cup her face, his thumb stroking her cheek.  His half-lidded hazel eyes met hers, his gaze focused intently on her lips.   She met his mouth with hers, tongues immediately entwining.  His hand moved from her cheek and up into her hair, the other arm wrapping around her back and waist to support her and hold her against him.  Her heart pounded in her chest.  She didn’t care that there wasn’t enough air, she needed him more than oxygen at the moment.  But if she didn’t get herself under control soon, she would end up sparking magic all over the hallway and him and that would be Very Bad.

Fortunately, his stomach decided just then to remind them they were going to be late.  Reluctantly, they parted.  He made a face. “I’m sorry about that.”  She had to smile at him.  “Guess we should go.  Or we’ll miss our reservations.”  

Her smiled widened as he set her on her feet.  “While the other two would adapt, Sera might stab someone.  She gets cranky when she’s hungry.”

“Never would have guessed.”


	3. Chapter 3

Cullen sat awkwardly next to Ash. He tried to cover, she could tell. But he sat far too rigidly upright, looked at her or even her cousin for which fork to use next. And barely spoke. She switched her fork to her other hand to put her hand on his leg under the table. She heard him exhale and turn and smile at her. “I’m sorry. This probably isn’t your thing, is it?”

The scarred corner of his mouth crooked up in a rueful half-smile. “Not usually. The food is wonderful.” He reached down and squeezed her hand. “And so’s the company.” Iron Bull laughed loudly at something Sera said.

She leaned closer, “They’ll want to go dancing later. They always do.”

He looked at her then, the half-smile somewhat strained. “I’m a terrible dancer.”

Ash laughed. “So am I. We can humiliate ourselves together.” She lifted her wine glass, filled with some type red she could barely pronounce that Dorian usually ordered. “We can blame it on the wine.”

He chuckled. “I’ll drink to that.” He tried it and smiled again. “At least it’s good wine.”

“A little too good. He always buys at least two bottles.”

Cullen choked, setting the glass down. “Two?”

“What are you telling the poor man, Ash?” Dorian demanded, leaning across her, his grey eyes narrowed in amusement.

“That you like to get me and Sera drunk at least once a month because we’re the only women who’ll dance with you,” Ash told him.

“What a terrible thing to say!”

“You’re leaning on me and you’re heavy!” She rolled her eyes, pushing on his shoulder. When he chuckled and shifted his weight to her chair, she clarified. “As I was saying, Sera and I are the only ones who’ll dance with him more than once. Because he doesn’t break our hearts, and we don’t mind being shown up on the dance floor.”

“That is true, I do break everyone’s hearts. It’s the curse of being so perfect. Really, this profile. It should be cast in marble!” Ash giggled at Dorian’s wide-eyed expression.

“You’re terrible!”

“Well, yes, but somehow, you always manage to stay by my side.”

“You’d be lost without me.”

“Very true.”

Cullen cleared his throat. “So, how did you two meet?”

Ash met Dorian’s eyes and shrugged. “Well…”

“She was kidnapped, I was imprisoned to be brainwashed. Really, it was like a very bad made-for-TV-movie. We don’t bore people with the particulars.” Dorian reached for her other hand and drained his entire glass of wine. Neither of them liked talking about that time. “Tragic back stories and all that.” She squeezed his hand. His fingers were shaking. Her desire to eat had gone completely out the window, too.

“I- I’m sorry. I d-didn’t mean to pry.” Cullen looked from one to the other, his eyes wide. She released his hand and rubbed his shoulder.

“It’s all right. It was an innocent question.”

Dorian relaxed his grip on her hand and leaned back in his chair. “Too right. ‘How did you meet?’ Doesn’t usually bring up traumatic PTSD memories.”

“Look, if you two are gonna go git morbid and shit, I’m gonna go get plastered and find me a nice girl to take home and sit on my face,” Sera grimaced, pushing her empty plate away and letting out a belch. “Enough of that bullshit.”

“Terribly sorry to bring up bad memories, Doctor Emmald, darling.” Dorian rolled his eyes as he took a drink of wine.

She lifted her hand to throw a wilted french fry at him, but Bull caught it before she could let it fly. “I think it’s time we ask for the check and go blow off steam.”

Iron Bull waved the waitress over and took the little vinyl folder. He slipped a credit card in it without looking at the receipt. Ash hid a smile as Cullen glared at him. “I can pay for myself and Ash.”

“And? It’s called an expense account,” Iron Bull told them, handing the waitress the folder.

Ash tilted her head as Cullen huffed out a laugh. “So, where are we going?” Mr. July asked as he slid sideways out of the booth and held his hand out to help her do the same.

Sera grinned widely. “Two blocks up, one over.”

* * *

  
Fortunately for Ash’s sandals it wasn’t a long walk.

It was early yet. A line had yet to form outside of the club. Sera grabbed Ash’s hand and dragged her away from Cullen. Sheepishly, she glanced back to see a startled expression on the fair-haired man’s face as the elf pulled her into the building. She had just enough time to wave and yell, “Hurry up!” before the driving beat of _You Give Love A Bad Name_ , wailed out through the open door. Sera waved at the bouncer, barely stopping as she belted out the song at full volume. Ash froze and yanked her hand out of her friend’s as the stage came into view. “You have got to be kidding me.”

On stage, not only was there a live band, they were screeching through one of Bon Jovi’s more legendary songs. They were also kitted out in every single 80’s Hair Band cliche possible, right down to the leather fringe on the lead singer’s microphone. “I know! Aren’t they perfectly dreadful and awesome?” Sera shouted.

Ash stared, wide-eyed. “Completely. I had no idea you wanted to Save The Wave, Sera!”

“What?”

“Nevermind! I need a beer!”

“OK, I’ll be right here!”

Ash pinched the bridge of her nose. Not even her parents listened to this anymore. Well, her mom might. When she thought Dad or Papa weren’t home. Dorian, not surprisingly was already at the bar. “I see you are already seeking alcoholic relief.”

“I know it was her turn, but… 80s?”

Dorian laughed and turned around. “It’s the bassist.”

“Flissa? I thought she hated her!”

“I think Sera changes her mind on everyone but us on a daily basis. It’s part of the adventure!” Ash laughed at Dorian’s wry observation.

“That’s not very nice,” she told him, ordering two of her usual without really thinking about it.

“And you’re assuming he likes the same beer you do,” the dark haired man pointed out.

“I have standards, Dorian. If the man drinks horse piss, I need to know. It could affect the future.”

“What could affect the future?” A warm hand against the small of her back and that voice close to her ear sent every nerve ending up and down her spine standing at attention.

Dorian smirked and nudged her, taking his and Bull’s drink to find the table the coach had claimed for them. She claimed the two dark amber bottles the bartender handed her, hiding their labels and turned to Cullen. “It’s very important.”

A dark eyebrow rose, “Really. What could be this important?”

“Beer.”

“It’s more important than the choice of music?”

“I didn’t choose the music.”

He laughed. “Fair enough.” Sidling closer to her, until his hip and thigh pressed against hers, he held out the hand that wasn’t on her back for the extra bottle. She turned it until the bright yellow label with the distinctive script was visible and slid the beverage to him, watching him. She caught of flash of his even, white teeth in the strobes as he grinned. “You passed your test, too.” He tapped the neck of her bottle with his before taking a drink.

She laughed. “Glad my taste in beer meets your approval, too.” She met his eyes and took a drink, hoping the beer drowned the fluttering nerves in her middle. “So, I don’t suppose you dance, do you?”

He made a face and set his bottle down. “Only if you do not value your toes.”

“Oh, it can’t be that bad,” she told him, leaning closer as the band crashed loudly to the song’s finale, seguing quickly into the next, a badly rendered cover of Joan Jett and the Blackhearts’ _I Love Rock N Roll_.

He smirked. “There’s a video game with a special forces space marine? He’s such a bad dancer in the third installment, his squadmates make fun of him. Including his own love interest. _I_ make _him_ look good.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “They’re, um… quite popular in the firehouse. A lot of downtime between alarms.”

Ash stared at him for a moment. He didn’t just… “You have got to be kidding. I love those games! Marry me. I’ll even forgive you for not dancing.”

He threw his head back, laughing. “Only if you tell me what you did at the end.”

She grinned. “Destroy. That was the mission, after all. And before you ask, I don’t believe that little invisible kid for one second.”

His grin widened and he tapped his bottle to hers again. “Never trust a Bioware Boss.”

“Now that is canon. Are you sure I can’t talk you into dancing?” she wheedled, pressing closer, his arm tightening around her waist.

“Give me a few more beers.”

“Fine. A few more beers.” A girl a few years older than Ash slinked up, clearly giving Cullen elevator eyes and completely ignoring Ash, a tray balanced expertly in her hand. A black string bikini and daisy-duke cut-offs paired with hot pink cowgirl boots had been assembled to assure maximum tips. Or maybe phone numbers. Ash hoped it was tips, many a lawyer had put herself through school as a cocktail waitress, after all. Until the woman ran a bright pink nail, manicured to a sharpened point, across the pristine white dress shirt and up into Cullen’s hairline. She glanced at Ash, her eyes running from toes to head and back with a sneer. She proceeded to completely ignore the fact that the man’s arm was still around Ash’s waist and that he had not turned at her approach.

“You gonna buy a Jell-O shot for your girl? They’re on special, $2. Or if she’s not your girl, you could always buy one for me, _Cowboy_.” The blonde’s magenta painted lips widened in a predatory grin as her prey froze. The muscles under his shirt visibly tightened, his fingers digging in to Ash’s side. She clenched her fist to keep from frying the waitress where she stood.

Before Cullen could turn around, and possibly be recognized, since Ash just saw the HFD calendar behind the bar. That would definitely worsen this woman’s pursuit, she yanked a ten out of her little purse and grabbed the girl’s hand. She yanked it away from Cullen’s neck and stuffed the bill into her palm. “Hey! You know what? I’ll take one of each. And for touching my date without his permission, you can forget your tip.” Ash took the shots off the tray herself. “Don’t come back. Send a girl ‘round next time who has manners. _Ferelden_ manners.”

“Bitch,” the woman muttered under her breath before stalking off in her cheap sandals.

“There a problem?” The dwarven bartender stumped over on his elevated platform.

Cullen shuddered and pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and took out a card, handing it to the short man. “I’d like to open a tab. Put these on it,” he gestured to the two beers. He stood, looking down at Ash. “Thank you. That… was uncomfortable.”

“No one has any right to do that.” Ash was livid with anger to the point of trembling. “Not without your permission.”

He smiled, taking the little plastic containers of shots from her. They fit a little easier in his hand than in hers. “Well, I like it when you do it.” He leaned down and gave her a small, sweet kiss that left her aching. He straightened up, “Let’s go find the others?” She wanted to say, _No, let’s go back to my apartment and I can tear all those buttons off with my teeth._ Instead, she nodded and grabbed her beer and her purse, entwining the fingers of her other hand with his.

Iron Bull found a large, elevated corner with overstuffed chairs and a loveseat. His feet were up on the coffee table in the middle. “While I do love _Rock ‘n’ Roll_ ,” Dorian shouted as they approached, “Do you suppose the band could find a key and stick with it?” The two men had taken over the loveseat, Dorian leaning on Bull’s shoulder. Cullen dumped the shots on the coffee table and sat down.

Ash moved to take the chair next to him, but Sera bounced in front of her, exclaimed, “Ooh! Jell-O shots!” Grabbed two and threw herself down on the chair Ash was headed for.

“Sera!”

“Wha? There’s another one!” She scooped the plastic cup with her little finger, loosening the gelatin. “I’m not moving. Sit in his lap or sit over there. Here, impress the man!” She tossed the blue one she’d grabbed at Ash who caught it against her stomach before going to look at the other chair. There was something smeared on the seat. There was no way she was sitting on that. _Why the hell would someone do that to a chair?_ She shuddered.

Looked like she was standing. Or leaning. And of course, Dorian had stretched his legs out over Iron Bull’s lap. She walked back over to lean against the arm where Cullen sat. Sera treated her to a wide grin. Ash rolled her eyes at her friend, draining the last of her beer and put the empty on the table. The band’s volume ramped up and she heard Cullen’s voice but not what he said as she turned around. He shook his head and held out his hand for hers. Cheers broke out over the rapidly filling club as the easily recognizable, synthesized strains of Kenny Loggins’ _Danger Zone_ , drowned out the crowd again.

Ash met his eyes and he used her hand to draw her over him. She finally heard what he was saying, “Sit down.”

“On you?”

Gently, he pulled her over and onto his lap. “You can hear me now, right?” Sera cheered loudly.

Ash leaned against him, angling her head toward his ear. “As long as she stops cheering.”

He reached up to move her hair away from her face and turned his head toward her ear, his breath on her neck making her shiver. “Are they always this enthusiastic when you date?” He settled his arms closer around her.

“I’ve never seen them this enthusiastic about anyone I dated. Dorian didn’t even approve of Sera for the first month.” She leaned her head against his, but felt his shoulders tense.

“There’s something I need to tell you --” He started to say. She raised her head to look at him, waiting. Dorian, however, had other ideas.  
The band had segued into A-ha’s _Take On Me._ “Come on, Darling. If no one else is going to dance with us.” Her oldest friend took her hand pulled her to her feet. She smiled apologetically at Cullen as Dorian led her out onto the small dance floor.

“He was about to tell me something important!”

The mage grinned unapologetically, “And? It’ll keep.”

Ash rolled her eyes and shook her head as Dorian spun her. “Exactly how do you dance to this?”

He jerked his head in the direction of another couple. “Well, we could do _that_.” The pair, wearing parachute pants, was enthusiastically engaging in the Running Man.

“Um, no. Let’s not. Please,” Ash groaned, ducking her head against his chest. “We are so overdressed for this place.”

“I think that’s part of the fun!” He turned her into a spin again.

“Are we ballroom dancing?” She laughed as he caught her.

“Hmmm, maybe. Are you going to tell me what’s going on with your fireman?”

“ _My_ fireman?” She grinned. “Hopefully… quite a bit. When the three of you leave us alone long enough.”

“Well, Iron Bull is quite suspicious of him.”

“Is there anyone he’s not suspicious of? You know… this video makes no sense with the lyrics. Girl’s in a diner, gets pulled into a comic book because of a hot guy… Thugs attack… he saves her… she saves him, he becomes real. But the lyrics are all about someone looking for… I dunno, true love?”

Dorian rolled his eyes. “Ash, Darling, I love you like a sister, but you’re overthinking a bloody pop culture song from three decades ago. And you’re dodging the question.”

She poked him in the shoulder. “And you’re being nosy. This is our first date. If it’s even a date. Hanging out with my friends in a cheesy bar hardly qualifies. I have no idea what’s going on. It’s a little early, Mr. Big Brother.”

He grinned in response. “Which is what I told our horned guardian angel over there. I’ll stop, Little Sister. Should I humiliate myself and do the Sprinkler in repentance?”

“Maker, no! I’ll disown you!” They both laughed.

When the band clumsily moved into Cyndi Lauper’s _Girls Just Wanna Have Fun_ , Sera bounced out and yanked Ash away from Dorian. Ash waved at him and went to dance with her ex-turned-best-friend. Sera kept looking over at the bassist and Ash shook her head. “Go, get her number.”

“What! No! That’s dumb! I’m not some brainless groupie!”

“Right! That’s why it’ll work!”

Sera stopped dancing and stared at Ash, “I’m not like you, Ash. I can’t just smile and get whoever to fall at my feet.”

“That has never happened,” Ash replied, standing still as well.

“It happened with me!”

Ash laughed, “It did not! I was practically your stalker for Maker knows how long before you noticed me!”

Sera froze and blinked at the younger woman, “Really? No….”

“Yes! You’re kinda oblivious, dear.” Ash closed the distance and put her arm across Sera’s shoulders.

“How long did it take?” the economics professor demanded.

“Oh, about six months. I just kept showing up where you’d be. Thank Andraste I’d already graduated, or I’d have flunked that semester.” Ash smiled at her.

“Well, look at me. Having the bloody...:” “ _Sera_ …” Ash warned her, “You _know_ … panting after me. OK, I’ll get her number.”

“Good.” Ash kissed her cheek. “Good luck.” Sera was already raptly watching the bassist as Ash turned to go back to their seats. And ran directly into Cullen’s chest.

“Is she alright?” he asked, gesturing to Sera.

“She just needed an ego boost. Dating sucks,” she told him, smiling up at him.

He gave her a half smile, the scar on his upper lip pulling it just a little more crooked. _No, Ash, you can’t lick it. And since when did you suddenly want to start licking scars?_ “Or, sometimes, you get lucky.” He held his hand out to her.

“I thought you didn’t dance?” She put her hand in his and he drew her to him and fit his hand against the small of her back. She had a brief worry for the scar down her spine, but it was quickly shelved as he started to move with her.

“I don’t. So, watch your toes.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, it’s time to grab your favorite partner for a round of Journey classics. We’ll get everything going right with _Faithfully_ ,” the lead singer drawled into his microphone.

“Andraste preserve me,” Cullen groaned, ducking his head onto her shoulder.

Alarmed, Ash tightened her arms around him, and turned her head toward his ear as the pianist began his extended opening solo. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t believe you talked me into this,” was his muffled response.

She laughed, “I didn’t talk you into anything. I was headed back over there to make out with you.”

“Now you tell me.”

“Doesn’t explain what’s wrong with this song, though?” She nudged him to try to lift his head.

“I… It was a silly adolescent thing I did once to impress a girl. I memorized it and sang it to her.” He was actually turning red. She’d seen him blush before, but this might have been the most red he’d turned yet.

“Are you serious?”

“It was ... high school. Or thereabouts. Very silly. _Restless hearts ... sleep alone tonight…_ ”

Ash felt a thrill down to her toes as he sang quietly, just for her, Cullen’s baritone clear and vibrant, harmonizing perfectly with the singer -- who actually sang Journey rather well. “ _And lovin' a music man ain't always what it's s’posed to be / Oh, girl you stand… by me, …. I'm forever yours, ...faithfully…._ ” They swayed in time to the slow beat, his arms tight around her. She lifted her head and found him looking down at her, intently, still singing. “ _Through space and time, ...always an-other sho-ow….Wondering where I am…. lost with...o-out you._ ”

She wanted nothing more than to kiss him right at that moment, but she also didn’t want him to stop singing. _Maker, his voice!_ His voice trailed off, and one of his hands slid up to cup the back of her head, entangling in her hair. His lips met hers, his tongue sending a flame to her core as he traced her lips. She tightened her arms around his shoulders, one of her hands tracing the muscles of his back upwards until reaching his golden hair. She parted her lips and the band’s singer crescendoed on the chorus, “ _For-ever… yours… faithfully…._ ” Her heart pounded, seemingly in time to the song as Cullen’s tongue stroked along hers, taunting, caressing, fanning an ache within her core that he’d begun with his first kiss. His arms held her so tightly against him, she could feel every curve and plane of his body. She wanted more. “ _I’m still yours, ….faithfully!_ ” The cheering and clapping at the end was starting. Cullen slowly pulled his mouth away, brown eyes darkened with desire. It wasn’t until he straightened up that she realized he’d dipped her backward, cradling her. _Oh, bloody hell, I’m done for._

He touched his forehead to hers. “Um. That... was… I didn’t sing that to you to…”

She reached up to cup his face, running her thumb along his stubble-lined jaw. “It never crossed my mind it did.” The singer was seguing into Richard Marx, _Right Here Waiting for You._ Ash groaned. “If they keep playing songs like this though, we’ll just snog right here.”

He let out a short laugh and took her hand, his fingers strong and warm around hers. Leading her from the dance floor, they headed for the small grouping of chairs they’d found. Ash stopped short when she saw Sera in the lap of a purple-skinned Qunari woman, the pair frenetically pawing each other. She yanked her eyes away. _Good on Sera. Hope that was a celebration for getting the bassist’s number rather than condolences._ Cullen scooped her small wallet up and held it out to her before turning to Iron Bull and Dorian, who were making an awfully large production out of kissing, with Dorian draped across Bull’s lap. Dorian rarely showed that much affection in public, his Tevinter childhood far more restrictive than anything Fereldan could possibly throw at him. Iron Bull, however, really cared nothing for what anyone said. “Um, gentlemen?” Cullen cleared his throat, politely. He glanced back at Ash. She smiled and nodded, closing the distance between them. Dorian pulled away from the bigger man, but Bull held the mage where he was.

“Boss,” Iron Bull nodded to Ash, “What’s up?”

Ash felt her face heat. _I want to go home and rip his clothes off,_ seemed a bit awkward to say in front of everyone. “I’m tired.” _He has a voice like an angel and I want to see what his tongue can do_ , was probably not something she should say out loud. “It has been a very long day. I did set my kitchen on fire.” Cullen coughed into his hand.

“And?” Dorian demanded, settling on the couch, his legs still across Bull’s lap, his own legs crossed strategically.

“Oh, for….” Ash covered her eyes with her hand while Cullen laughed.

“Well, you two take us home and then go somewhere more private. Or keep being very uncomfortable in public. And we take a cab.” Cullen waited, his hand tightening over Ash’s.

She watched Bull’s single eye narrow. “Ash, see if Sera and her new pal need a ride home. Bar’s gonna close soon anyway. Cullen, how about you and I go get the car.”

Dorian’s eyebrows raised, “And what am I supposed to do?”

Bull grinned and leaned over and gave the mage a chaste kiss. “Sit there and look pretty for twenty minutes, then drag Ash outside. And tell her to bring that damned shot.”

Dorian grinned. “I like the way your mind works.”

“I know you do.”

Ash laughed watching them, but Cullen caught her attention as he turned to her. “I’ll be right back.” She looked up at him, her amber eyes wide in the shadows of the poorly lit bar.

She smiled, “I’ll be here.” She tilted her head up for his brief kiss. Bull shoved Dorian’s legs off him and stood up, motioning for the firefighter to follow.

 

* * *

 

The big Qunari led the way through the crowd. The nearly empty bar had certainly filled in while he’d danced with her. _Maker, that had felt good._ They made it outside and Cullen stood for a moment next to Bull, letting his ears adjust to the silence.

Bull reached up and rubbed his own ears. "The one thing I hate about bars, always feel deaf getting out of them."

Cullen nodded, "Makes me feel old." He shook his head, his ears clearing up.

Bull snorted, "That's what we get for dating younger people. C'mon. It's a long walk and I want to ask you a few questions.” Pulling his shirt away from himself in the humidity, Cullen braced for the usual biographical questions. Since Ash had never mentioned a father in their brief conversations, he was beginning to wonder if Bull had been adopted as a stand in of sorts. "So... " the qunari began, "How long have you been a Grey Warden?"

Cullen choked on something, air maybe, and fell into a coughing fit. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me.” The qunari turned his head to look at him out of the one eye. Cullen supposed it was rude to be on the guy’s blind side but at the moment, it was an advantage he wasn’t willing to give up. He mentally checked for his hold-out piece on his lower calf, its weight reassuring. “It can't be the Templar thing. Look. Point is, I know who you are. I even know about Kirkwall."

"And I know you're former Ben Hassrath.” The former Templar didn’t bother to keep the belligerence out of his voice.

"Well. Glad we have all our cards out then." The former spy’s voice was dry.

"What’s the point of this interrogation?" Cullen demanded.

The qunari turned and bent to look him in the eye, "Just this. Do your job. I can't keep an eye on her 24/7. It's impossible, even if I use the Chargers. And she knows about them and me. She hired us herself. But if you endanger her because you're thinking with the little head instead of the big head. Or worse, your damned heart, then I'll come after you _first_ , then whoever hurt her."

Cullen glared at the bigger man. "If something happens to her, you can be damned sure I'm already dead."

Bull looked at him for a while. "You speaking as a Warden, or as a man who wants to get into her pants?"

"A Warden." If nothing else, that’s what he was now.

"Good.” Iron Bull straightened up and started walking again. “What are you going to do when she drags you into her apartment tonight? I'm assuming you're sleeping there since her lock is broken."

Cullen shrugged. "Sleep on her couch, of course."

"Well, look at that.” The bigger man pulled out his key fob and hit the alarm on the large SUV. “There's room for you in the car after all."

Cullen snorted. He shook his head and walked around to the other side of the car to get in the front seat until they pulled up in front of the club. Blessedly, Bull kept the stereo off. When they pulled up, Ash and Dorian were standing outside, Dorian’s jacket over Ash’s shoulders. He wasn’t entirely sure how she could be chilled in this weather, but he’d given up trying to figure out what made women cold a long time ago. Not that he didn’t really want to switch Dorian’s for his. Bull gave him a significant look and Cullen grinned, catching the hint. He climbed out of the front seat and rushed around to open the door for Ash. The Tevinter winked at him as he passed. Cullen stood there, with his hand on the door while she looked up at him. She handed him the mage’s jacket and leaned up to press her lips against his. She climbed into the car. When he followed her in, folding Dorian’s jacket to hand it to him, he found her pulling his on that he’d left lying across the back of the seat, shoving her arms through the sleeves. He cleared his throat, “So, is Sera joining us?”

Dorian reached back for his jacket, and grinned, noticing what Ash had replace it with. “Sera decided she was going to stay a bit longer and get to know her new friend.”

Ash buckled herself into the middle seat and scooted as close to him as the belt would let her, waiting for him to buckle in. “She was very insistent.” Iron Bull looked at him in the rear view as he pulled out into traffic and Ash tucked herself under his arm. He smiled, tight-lipped, at the Qunari who merely shook his head. He tried very hard not to focus on how well Ash fit against him, her lithe form pressed hip to shoulder with his. He was glad it wasn’t a very long drive to their apartment building.

When they were dropped off, Iron Bull giving him one last _look_ , Ash frowned at the SUV then back at him. “So, what the hell was up with you and Bull glaring at each other,” Ash asked. He looked at her for a moment, inhaling the warm, humid air of the Haven summer night.  
Glancing up at the stars that were barely visible through the small city’s light pollution, he shrugged. “He’s looking out for you. Asked my intentions. That sort of thing.”

Ash’s amber eyes widened. “Your _intentions_?”

Cullen felt his stomach twist at continuing to evade the truth. He had so far avoided outright lies, but for how long? Orders were orders. And he’d already broken so many of them. “Well, I did break your door. He was curious how I intended to make sure you were safe tonight.”  
He wasn’t surprised when she rolled her eyes. He’d learned that much about her, at least. She walked up to their building while he dug his keys out of his pocket. “I’m plenty safe.” She flashed a wide grin at him in the dim street light. “I have Wrex!”

Before he could stop himself, Cullen snorted out a laugh. "I'm sure he's... very... effect--- I'm sorry, I can't. No, he doesn't count." His hands felt clumsy with held-in laughter.

Ash nudged him in the ribs with her elbow as he finally got the key in the lock of the outer door of the building. He turned to let her in first. "I am serious, though. I'll sleep on the couch."

"I'm not going to talk you out of this?" Her wide eyes were steady as she paused on the threshold to look up at him.

He rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. "I'd probably camp out in the hallway and let people think I was stalking you." He looked away from her in mock embarrassment.

She groaned at his sense of humor. Rightfully so. They stepped into the building and she turned, shaking her head. "Cullen.... You..." She grabbed a handful of his shirt and used it to pull herself up toward his mouth, almost making him lose his balance. She pressed her lips to his, softly and gently. "Its a good thing you're sexy. Because no one gets to protect me, but _me_." She let go and dropped back on to her heels. She opened her little purse and pulled out the blue-tinted plastic cup waving it triumphantly. "And that _I_ still have a Jell-O shot. Because I will need it." She turned and headed down the hallway, slightly unsteady from the beers she'd had. He stared after her, watching her hips sway in that very tight and very short black skirt, the muscles of her legs flexing from her heels as she walked.

"Maker's breath, I'm so screwed." He muttered under his breath, feeling light-headed from the speed of the blood leaving his brain.

"C'mon, before Wrex runs out!" She called out to him. Cullen shook his head to clear it, trying to stop imagining that dress on the floor and those legs with those heels wrapped around him. _Dammit, Rutherford!_

He turned the corner into her apartment and stopped in the doorway. She'd grabbed her little dog and was taking food out for him, murmuring apologies while the silly thing tried to tried to lick her face. "I'll get a few things and be right back?"

"Sure. Pillow, blanket... what?" She straightened up from putting the little dog on the floor where he immediately began scarfing his food down.

He glanced at the couch and shrugged. "Anything is fine." She actually bounced over to kiss him on the corner of his mouth.

"Hurry back, or I'll barricade the door and go to sleep without you to protect me."

"You would, wouldn't you." He had to smile. He couldn’t help it.

"Learned early on, I'm my last line of defense." She grinned and winked at him, though there was something sad in her eyes. The words and the grin were sexy as hell. But the sadness…

He nodded. _Whatever happened to her as a kid…._ “I'll be right back.” He waited for her to close the door on him before turning and heading to the stairs. Yet again, he took them two at a time back to his apartment. Halfway up, his phone pinged with a text and he took it out. But it was Ash's alert, not his. He’d cloned her SIM card a day or so after starting this assignment. Mostly just to know where she was. He’d never eavesdropped before now. He froze on the stairs. _Andraste's tits, I shouldn't read it. It's not for me._ But his thumb wasn't listening and it pressed accept.

Dorian: Mr. July spending the night?  
Ash: I knew you recognized him, jerk.  
Dorian: Just lookin out for you. So, is he?  
Ash: After the guilt trip your boyfriend laid on him? Yes. Sofa City, though.  
Dorian: You're a cruel woman, keeping that big bed all to yourself, making the poor man sleep alone on the hard cold sofa.  
Ash: Are you seriously trying to talk me into fucking someone on the first date?

Cullen fumbled his phone and nearly dropped it.

Dorian: APPN, Ash, Wouldn't DREAM  
Ash: Yeah. Right. Aren't you neglecting your boyfriend?  
Dorian: He's moisturizing his horns. Promise that's not a euphemism.  
Ash: Go help him. Heard from Sera?  
Dorian: She reported a safe arrival with her new BFF. Who is apparently a "Right Shag!"  
Ash: LOL. Good night BB  
Dorian: Good night LS

 _Well, so... it_ had _been a date? Maybe?_ He leaned against the stairwell and hit his head against the wall a few times. Then took a deep breath. "Right. To work."

Letting himself into his apartment, his usual sweep was automatic and cursory. He doubted there was any danger, but old habits died hard. And some were just good practice. He regretted not doing to the same downstairs, but knew that would have been out of character for the simple firefighter he was pretending to be. The faster he returned, though, the smaller the window of danger, after all. Especially since she was on the first floor. Yet again, he wondered why in Andraste’s name Surana wanted this woman protected or watched. He yanked his duffle from under his bed and grabbed what he'd need for an overnight assignment.

Inside, he shoved his Warden-issue Paedus & Toller .45, plus ammunition for both living and Blighted. Not that he expected to be overrun by zombies, but you could never be too careful. A Weyro pump-action shotgun and his custom fitted Harrod's Drake Body Armor. Plus the requisite toothbrush and razor and other odds and ends. He debated for a moment sleeping in his clothes versus grabbing something closer to pajamas. Because at least pajama bottoms would be normal. And help his cover rather than sleeping in whatever he was wearing. And a great deal more decent than his normal boxers. He did take a minute to change into jeans and an older dark green tee advertising, “The Gnawed Noble Tavern, Denerim,” with a ridiculously busty dwarva holding an oversized mug of ale under the words and a broad grin with not much else other than an apron. A relic from his recruit days. Most of his graduating class probably owned one considering most Ferelden recruits tried to go there at least once on leave.

Cullen nearly flew down the stairs after packing. His duffle was ridiculously heavy for just an overnight stay and might require just a little bit of a some fast talking to explain why. He knocked on the faux wooden door. Then he froze when the woman he left wasn’t the one who opened it. Yes, the shape of her face was the same, her height... her scent, her bone structure.... But the hair was bright red, and the eyes an even brighter amber than they had been. The woman looking back him him, wearing a skimpy tank top and thin sleep pants wore the same face that toured Thedas on goodwill missions during natural disasters and appeared on society gossip rags with some young noble or other of the week. He cleared his throat around the sudden pounding of his heart. She bent her head to look at him from under a shock of that impossibly bright red hair. "Um... Ash?"

"I um... thought it best to let the cat out of the bag. So to speak."

He suddenly didn't feel like he'd packed enough weapons. She sighed and grabbed his shirt front, yanking him into the apartment. Slamming the door behind him, she glared at him from under the copper eyebrows. "Don’t you dare get weird. I'm the same person you sang to and have been locking lips with most of the damned day." Suddenly, Iron Bull’s attitude made a great deal more sense. Everyone in that car had known who she was except him. He considered strangling Surana next time he saw her. Ash smirked, straightening his tee, smoothing the logo over his chest. _Maker preserve me, she makes my heart pound, even knowing who she is._ "Like the shirt."

"Don’t change the subject. Ash... what? Why?"

She sighed, and stopped playing with the logo across his chest to his great relief. He was running out of baseball stats to recite in the back of his head. "So I can get a doctorate on my own and not because of who my daddy is. Surely you can appreciate that."

"Then... how?” He gestured at her appearance. He knew, technically, how it could be accomplished. His time as a Templar told him that much. But either she was a mage or -- he glanced at her tattoo-less arm -- _Shit_ \-- and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I think the less you know about that... the better, don't you?"

He looked at her for a moment. "No. I’m fairly certain I can guess. But for now, I'll play along. So, now that we're being honest.... And I know who you are, your Highness."

She steps closer and looks up at him, "Keep calling me that and you can forget kissing me. _Ever_ again."

He stepped back into the door as she advanced on him. He swallowed. "I'm a Grey Warden. Sent to protect you. Former Templar, too, though I'm not sure if that matters.” He scrubbed at his face. “I guess your mother sent me. And then told me to stay away."

Ash started laughing. "So... if you know my mother, why disobey her?" _Andraste preserve me, I’m beginning to really like that laugh._

Cullen smirked. "I may be on a very short list of people who isn't afraid of her."

"Well. There might be a story there.” She sighed and went back to the couch. Immediately, her little dog leapt into her lap. Absently, she scratched at his ears. “But it also might make me not want to kiss you."

He chuckled and sat on the other end of the couch. "I promise, I just knew her before. When she was an apprentice. Before she could barely light a candle and I couldn't even smite one. My attention was... elsewhere."

"Was the object of your.. _attention_... the one you learned _Faithfully_ for?" She was looking at him out of the corner of her eye, one brow raised.

He laughed. "No. That was a recruit when I was 16. Turns out, she preferred women. I helped her ask her future girlfriend out when she left the service. I sang harmony."

"Andraste's ass, Cullen!" Ash swore, turning to face him fully. "Should I just throw my underwear at you?"

His face immediately lit on fire and he coughed. "I.,. um..." _Maker yes, please?_ He groaned and covered his eyes with one hand.

He felt her climbing onto his lap and looked up. "Ash, you can't..."

"Shut up." She settled on his legs and looked at him, her hands on his shoulders. "I can't decide if you're for real. You haven't run away...Told me to get off you, get lost, get stuffed... Gotten all formal. Why?"

Hesitantly, he put his hands on her thighs. "I can think of two things. I knew your parents before they were famous. And they don't scare me. And two, to be honest, that's not even the primary thought in my head."

Ash's full lips widened into a grin. "And what's the other thought."

"That with or without the disguise, you're gorgeous."

Ash closed her eyes and tilted her head back, the long column of her throat bare and vulnerable and all he wanted to do was run his lips along it. She let out a long, shuddering breath. "I have one last confession."

He raised his hands to trace along her bare clavicle on both sides of her neck. "Whatever it is... it can't be that bad."

She climbed off his lap and stepped away from him. He frowned, watching her. _What was she up to?_ She walked over to a small silver box on a shelf above her kitchen bar, a box he’d only noticed in passing before. From it, she pulled a set of ornate silver rings that would cover each of her slender fingers from base to tip. Fear shot through him, for her, of her, old, worn-out, like a familiar uniform or set of armor. There was only one reason someone would have a set of rings like that for both hands. He held himself still as she crossed back to him and held the weapons out to her. Because that’s what they were. His heart started beating again when she dropped them into his lap and crossed her arms back over her chest, hugging herself. He looked from the rings to the girl in front of him, waiting for the words he knew were coming. She took a deep breath and met his eyes. "I'm an apostate."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter by LunaMax1214

 

“We’ll be in touch!” Tressa Brennokovic waited until the door alarm let out it’s shrill _ding-dong!_ before adding, “. . .with the cops, so we can get a restraining order,” under her breath. She shook her head as she drew a large “X” in bright red ink across the application sitting on the counter in front of her. She wrote a note at bottom of the page: _If the store were on fire, this guy would let it burn to the ground because it would be “something new and different from the status quo.”_

She left out the part about his eyes glowing blue for a fraction of a second when he went to make his exit, as she was certain she had imagined it.

Tressa recapped the red marker and threw it down into the open drawer by her knees, next to the stun gun and her telescoping baton. She kneed the drawer shut and pushed a hand through her recently-shorn locks. When Velanna had announced they needed another key-holder for The Black Emporium, Tressa had known her life was going to get more difficult thanks to the interviewing process. As the store’s assistant manager, it was her duty to deal with the hiring, though Velanna would get the final say. With the economy in such bad shape, a stampede of applicants was to be expected, especially for a job that paid just enough for one to both sleep indoors and eat with regularity. What she hadn’t expected was to have to deal with every half-wit, dudebro, and all-out _psychopath_ stuck in this city after the economy crashed.

She glanced up at the griffon statue with a wrought-iron clock wedged in it’s beak above the front entrance. Six hours before closing time, and she had no idea who was going to show up next to plead their case for this job opening. Velanna wanted Tressa going in blind to these interviews so there was little chance of her formulating preconceived notions about the applicants. Plus, the elf seemed to glean some sort of sadistic glee from keeping her assistant manager on her toes.

By her estimation, she had approximately thirty-four minutes before the next desperate soul disrupted her day. She jotted herself a note on a neon pink sticky note, and slapped it onto the monitor of the point-of-sale machine. Mentally patting herself on the back for remembering to leave said note, she grabbed a pair of black hair elastics from where she kept a stash hidden beneath the POS machine’s keyboard and split her hair into two short, stubby pigtails that rode low on her head. She needed her hair away from her face while she emptied boxes from the previous night’s shipment, if she was going to make any noticeable progress. With a sigh, Tressa rounded the U-shaped counter and headed for the back room.

* * *

 

Delrin smoothed non-existent wrinkles from the front of his vest as he looked up at the front of The Black Emporium. The Black Emporium, as it turned out, wasn’t black at all. It was all weathered clapboard, so the siding was varying shades of grey. _‘The Grey Emporium’ didn’t test well with focus groups, I guess._

He had never pictured himself working at a goth-themed retail store, but at this point, he was desperate. He needed the work, and no other company had positions open that paid anything near as good as this place was offering. It was this, or nothing at all, as far as he was concerned.

_You’re not going to get the job by standing out in the parking lot, Barris. Get a move on._

Delrin double checked to make sure he had locked his car, and set off across the gravel lot.

The building itself had once been a large single-family home, by the look of it. Unlike most of the homes in Haven, which were single-storey ranch models, this one was two stories, with a large chunk of the bottom level dedicated to a covered porch. The porch was large enough to drive a minivan onto and still have enough room to maneuver oneself to the entryway easily.

While there wasn’t a vehicle parked on the porch, a goodly bit of other stuff was on display. Most notable among all the kitsch and macabre _(Skeletons in rocking chairs? Really?)_ were the vintage college banners from some of the major universities of Thedas. One would think such things would be horribly out of place at an establishment like the Emporium, but it was something of an unspoken ordinance that everyone pay public tribute to whichever institutes of higher learning were popular.

Or, more accurately, whomever’s football team they were rooting for that year.  

University of Denerim’s silver and scarlet banner, it’s sable mabari mascot set proudly in the center, hung to the right of the entrance. To the left was the maroon and white of Ferelden Agricultural & Mining with it’s snarling albino nugalope, antlers tearing through the ampersand as it charged. Directly above the front entrance was the burnt orange and white of University of Thedas with its stampeding druffalo emblazoned on one end.

To the left of the doorway, standing on an antique tea service cart below the A & M banner, was a stuffed orange druffalo plush, in a tan Stetson and matching chaps. Next to it was a bright white nugalope plush, flat on its back and expertly hogtied with sisal rope.

This also wasn’t really unusual, either. Haven’s population seemed to favor UT over A & M. Mostly because A & M’s football team was perpetually dreadful.

Shaking his head in an attempt to get his mind back where it needed to be, Delrin grasped the handle of the front door, and paused. There was a small sign taped to the inside of the front window. It read, “All unattended children will be given to The Goblin King,” with an arrow pointing to a badly Photoshopped image of the character of the same name from the film _Labyrinth._

For a moment, he considered turning around and forgetting the whole idea entirely. Which was completely daft. His sudden misgivings, that is, not the idea itself. Legal, gainful employment was never a bad plan.

_What is your problem? So the place is probably staffed by people with eclectic tastes and strange humor. You can’t say your life has been exactly “normal.”_

He opened the door, and stepped inside, once again thanking the Maker for that blessed invention known as air conditioning. Much like every other building in the city this time of year, the AC was cranked full blast, and the sudden temperature change caused gooseflesh to rise on Delrin’s skin. He absently rubbed at one of his forearms as he looked around the interior of the shop.

While it was definitely bigger on the inside than the exterior led one to believe, not a single bit of space went to waste inside the Emporium. The burgundy and black striped walls supported shelves and racks from floor to ceiling. They held a plethora of merchandise, from t-shirts to fairy statues to leather-bound journals probably meant to resemble spell tomes but really just looked like overly expensive notebooks. The floor was dotted with more racks full of all sorts of clothing, and rotating towers full of makeup and hair dye in every color combination imaginable. Even with all the merchandise crammed into the space and the dark palette of the decor, the store didn’t feel crowded and dark. Looking up at the ceiling, Delrin observed the wrought-iron chandeliers hanging from the rafters were fitted with energy efficient LED bulbs shaped to resemble candle flames. _Good lighting can work wonders._

At the center of everything was a glass-and-chrome U-shaped counter. It looked as if it doubled as a jewelry case and cash wrap. There were computer monitors and keyboards on top of the counter, and he could see trinkets of varying size and material glinting under the halogen lamps inside the glass-fronted display case.

What Delrin didn’t see inside the store was a single person, be them customer or employee.

Just as he was wondering if something might be wrong, there was a clanging noise from somewhere to his left. He turned, and saw something metallic spinning on the tiled floor. He reached out with his foot to stop the object’s movement, then knelt down to pick it up. It was some sort of chalise, purposely distressed and antiqued to make it look old. He looked around, trying to see where the object might fit in. _Well_ , Delrin mused to himself, _this will be hell trying to place inventory._

A new noise greeted his ears, closer than he would have anticipated in an empty store, and he slid backwards, the better to keep himself from any potential danger. At least there was one positive benefit to Templar training.

A boy with blond hair so light it was nearly white, and wearing black sneakers, dark denims, and a black t-shirt with a sketch of Pinocchio and the words, “I’m a real boy!” silkscreened onto the front in light grey sat in a tall, swiveling office chair near the end of the cash wrap counter. Delrin would have sworn on his own life that chair was empty only a moment before. He shook his head once to clear the suspicion. _Don’t be ridiculous, you’re just missing things because you’re nervous._

“Don’t worry,” the boy assured him. “She’ll be here soon.”

Before Delrin could ask what he meant by that, the boy slid off the chair and wandered further into the shop. After several tense moments of inner debate, Delrin stood up and reluctantly followed.

“Checking the other corners. Sweeping all visible aisles. _A skilled apostate can hide, but your concentration will win every time._ _Be thorough but swift when you look. Check your corners._ Just as he was taught. Don’t let anything else get the better of me.”

“Cole,” a voice warned, coming from the same corner the strange boy was in. Probably from behind the bookshelves. “Cole, what have I told you about ‘reading’ the applicants before I’ve had a chance to see them?”

Delrin didn’t catch whatever the boy (Cole, he guessed) said in response, because he was too busy trying to discern if he’d lost his mind.

He _knew_ that other voice, but there was no way--

He caught sight of the woman’s profile as she rounded the bookshelves, a large cardboard box held tight in her hands.

The first thing that hit him was that her hair was not only much shorter than he remembered it, but it was bright purple rather than black. The second thing he realized was that she was wearing a _dress_. While his mind tried to figure out which of those facts was the more shocking, the third thing he realized was that Tressa Trevelyan had yet to notice him on her way to the front of the jewelry counter.

“Trev?”

She froze midstep, and slowly turned to face him. Her grey eyes widened as she stared at him, and for a horrible moment, Delrin thought he might actually be mistaken. That this person blinking at him owlishly might just have a passing resemblance to his missing friend. That a trick of the light was making him see things that weren’t there.

Then the box she was holding slid from her fingers. It landed square on the toe of her right shoe, and she cried out, “Maker’s bleeding fucking _bollocks!”_

He really should have been angry. It had been three years since she’d disappeared from the Spire without a word of warning or a trace thereafter. But watching his closest friend literally hopping on one foot as she cussed a blue streak, he really couldn’t stop himself from grinning. Just a little. 

“What are you--” He stopped talking as Tressa stopped dealing with her likely bruised toes and started backing away from him. She backed straight into the counter, but rather than stopping, she edged her way to the end of it and resumed her backward progress until she reached a gap in the side. She then stepped into the space behind the point-of-sale machines, her eyes darting to different parts of his body as she did so. _Did she. . .did she just check me for weapons?_

His confusion took on a wounded edge as he realized she was retreating because she was afraid. That realization cut him deep. She had _never_ been afraid of him, not in the entire time they had known one another. Not on the firing range, not in the training yard, not when he’d had her flat on the mat and she refused to tap out  _(the stubborn git)_.

_Trev. . .what **happened** to you?_

He didn’t realize he had asked the question aloud until she blurted, “I don’t go by that anymore.” Her lips clamped down into a firm line and she took a long, slow breath through her nose. It was soon followed by several more. She laid her hands flat atop the counter, palms down, and stood up a little straighter, her eyes never leaving him as she tried to calm down. “I don’t go by that anymore,” she said again, her voice quieter this time. “So, please, don’t use it. Not at the store, anyway.”

“Alright.” Delrin paused, not really sure of what to do in this now very awkward situation. “What should I call you, then?”

She bit her lower lip, regarding him with a pensive expression ( _at least some things are still the same about you, Trev)_  for a time before she answered. “First names are fine. It _is_ a retail establishment.”

He nodded to show his agreement. “Tressa,” Delrin tried, and the name felt strange in his mouth. “What are you doing here?”

“I work here,” she said, “and unless I’m mistaken, I believe you’re my five o’clock."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many heartfelt thanks go out to [galtori](http://galtori.tumblr.com/) from Tumblr for acting as beta for this chapter while [Sia](http://siawrites.tumblr.com/) does some major adulting in RL. Without Gal, I'd have completely botched writing Cole.
> 
> More thanks go out to all the readers and followers, both here and on Tumblr. Speaking of, for those who do the Tumblr thing, you can find me on that site under the same username, [lunamax1214](http://lunamax1214.tumblr.com/).


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tressa Trevelyan tries to discern if Delrin Barris is friend or foe, and someone makes an unexpected return to the Black Emporium. Reunions, flashbacks, and revelations, oh my!
> 
> Warnings: Swearing, probably some angst, some fluff, referneces to Greek myth, lip-locking and other potential NSFW activities

_. . .Shit, shit, shit, shit, **shit**._

Tressa couldn’t believe it. She should have seen it coming, but she never once thought the Lord Seeker would use _Barris_ to bring her in. It was inevitable Lucius would reverse his decision not to bring her up on charges.  That’s why she had spent most of the last two and a half years putting safeguards in place so she couldn’t be found. Not easily, anyway.  She tried to ignore the way her insides ached when she thought about the reasons why Barris might agree to such a thing. Ignore all her calls for help, and then do _this_.

_Keep it together. It’s already bad enough you dropped a box of heavy-assed pewter on your foot. No need to do anything else to make the nicely-dressed Templar holding potentially improvised weaponry think you’re an easy target._

Tressa kept her gaze trained on Barris as she stood behind the cash-wrap, her hands flat on the counter in a false show of capitulation, and she ran through her options. Maker, she really needed to formulate a coherent thought before whatever was about to happen got completely out of her control.

\---------

_Tressa shoved the tent flap open to get inside the structure, then flung it behind her, not bothering to do her bunkmate the courtesy of holding it until he could grab it. It was petty, but she supposed it was better than punching him in the face._

_Unfortunately, she flung it with such force that when the wind caught it, one of the corners whipped him across the jaw. That effectively accomplished the same thing._

_She heard Barris swear behind her as he entered the tent, and saw him rub at his face briefly before he said, “What in the Void was that for, Trev?”_

_“I didn’t do it on purpose!” Tressa was trying to keep her voice down in spite of her anger. “And I could ask you the very same thing!” She looked around for a spot to get out of her poncho and BDUs without shaking rainwater all over everything._

_Barris went to his side of the tent, probably trying to do something similar. “What are you talking about? I didn’t do--”_

_She cut him off as she put her poncho, then her jacket on hooks hanging from one of the tent ropes. “You know exactly what I’m talking about,” she hissed, hoping that they weren’t loud enough to alert anyone in neighboring tents that something was amiss. She bent down to unlace her boots so she could put them and her socks up next to her jacket._

_Tressa didn’t have to see his face to know Barris was frowning. She could tell by his tone alone that he was both confused and annoyed. “If this is about rearranging things so you didn’t wind up bunking with Astrid--”_

\---------

She could run, but what good would that do? Running to the dressing room and hoping she could put in the code for the basement door before he managed to find her was a foolhardy idea, at best. Besides, if she couldn’t get the door shut again fast enough, Tressa ran the risk of letting an outsider into the “rare stocks,” which in turn would endanger the Underground. Barricading herself in the basement was out.

She didn’t have a car, so if she went through the storeroom and out the back door, she’d still have to make it off the loading dock and across the road before she could find cover. She was fast, but Barris was faster. Always had been. He’d catch up to her in a dead sprint, no contest.

Tressa thought about her stun gun and baton down in the middle drawer, and immediately ditched that idea. Barris could easily vault the counter before she even opened the drawer. While she was no slouch, in such a tight space he’d have the advantage through his size alone. A taser was an up-close and personal weapon, anyway. If he got that close to her, he had that pewter chalice. . .full impact wasn’t even required to cause problems, if he tried to club her with it. Even a glancing blow would mean “game over.”

 _Deep breaths, Teresa. You control this situation. This is your domain, not his._ _There are variables you’re missing._ She could practically see Morrigan chiding her in her head, complete with her trademark look of bored disdain. It was moments like these that she couldn’t tell if hearing Morrigan in her head was a sign of good mental health or bad, and she wanted to shake the older woman for it. Mostly because said older woman wasn’t within easy reach to give her an answer.

Tressa fought the urge to roll her eyes at Imaginary Morrigan as she listened to herself answer Barris’ questions. It wasn’t that her mouth was running without her permission, exactly. She was stalling for time so she could figure things out.

She tried to keep her face blank as she remembered there was another option. One she really didn’t want to use. Not if she didn’t have to.

Even as the thought crossed her mind, she ran the top of her foot along the bottom lip of the counter.

 _Ah, there you are._ Three small plungers hid under the edge of the counter, one blue, one yellow, and one red. Tressa mentally counted them off as she felt the ridge of each panic button through the top of her slipper. The last one, the red one, was the equivalent of the nuclear option. If Tressa hit that button, three things would happen. The first was everyone connected to the mage underground would be alerted to the fact the Emporium had been compromised. The second was Velanna and a select group of battlemages would materialize from Maker only knew where and rain down hell upon whomever threatened the network. The third was that the basement would seal itself off from the upper part of the building, and do. . .something. The details on that had always been a little vague, which was all the more reason to avoid making it happen.

Beyond that, if she was wrong, and this wasn’t as dire a situation as she feared it to be, the word “overkill” wouldn’t be strong enough to describe the end result. It would be whatever the offspring of a clusterfuck and a bloodbath looked like, and there would be no going back once it started.

So, no red button. Not yet.

The blue button, the one closest to her, was the standard silent alarm. Typical response. Police, fire, rescue, but no Velanna. No battlemages. No bloodshed.

. . .Hopefully.

Also no real help with the current problem, either, other than to maybe serve as a distraction so she could make an exit. Since running had already been ruled out as a viable option, that choice was made for her. That left. . .

The yellow button.

As she rubbed at it gently with her shoe, Tressa caught sight of the fluorescent pink sticky note she’d slapped on the computer monitor not thirty minutes beforehand.  It read, _“Countdown to Jo’s Return: 8 Days!”_

 _Damn it all._ She pulled her foot from beneath the counter. The yellow button was something Josephine had installed herself. It was meant as an alternative to the “nuke it from orbit” option of the red button, but also to circumvent the local authorities if the situation was more delicate than they could be trusted to handle. Like if something went wrong with the rare stocks. Or if it looked like Tressa was going to be arrested unexpectedly.

Albeit Jo had said that in regard to activities she was directly privy to, rather than something from Tressa’s past she wasn’t aware of.

Pushing that particular button would serve no purpose but to send _Josephine_ into a panic. Seeing as she was in another damned _country_ at the moment, she’d be alerted to Tressa being in trouble when she couldn’t do a damn thing about it. Tressa felt like pounding her fists into the counter, but refrained for fear of breaking the glass.

And possibly provoking her former. . .friend.

\---------

_“It’s more than that,” she snapped, “and you know it!” She pulled off one boot, then the other, letting them drop to the tarpline floor. Her woolen socks quickly joined them. Being barefoot, down to her tank top and camo pants when it was raining in the Emprise in the middle of Harvestmere was not the best plan, even if she was in a tent, but she was too worked up to give it a second thought. She advanced on her temporary roommate until there was only about a foot of space between them. “Just when did you designate yourself my keeper? Or decide I needed one in the first damn place?”_

_Barris blinked down at her. “. . .What?”_

_She crossed her arms over her chest and glared up at him. “You heard me.”_

_“Just because I heard you doesn’t mean that you were making any sense!” Some part of her brain recognized the exact moment when Barris regretted his choice of words, but the rest of her was too pissed off to care._

_“First you rearrange the bunk rotation behind my back,” she began, ticking off items on one of her hands as she spoke. “Then, you make sure that no matter what the squad is doing, day after day, I’m not out of your sight or reach. Then that load of bollocks about the search drills--”_

_“You have never once objected to being paired with me for search drills before now,” Barris cut in, looking away only long enough to put his own jacket on a hook in the opposite corner from hers._

_Tressa kept going as if he hadn’t spoken. “After that, it was the watch rotation, and then to top it all off, you decide I’m not fit to be part of the scouting party, and that was all just in the first two days! What the_ **fuck,** _Barris?” She punctuated the last part of her rant by poking him in the chest in time with each word._

 _She could see Barris was fighting to remain calm, catching sight of his hands flexing in and out of fists at his sides. “I have never said, or thought, you were unfit for_ anything _, Trev.”_

 _“You could have fucking fooled me, the way you’ve been behaving since we began this hike.” Tressa could feel her jaw beginning to ache from the strain of remaining as quiet as possible during this whole exchange. “You didn’t show this much distrust in me or my abilities when I was a freshie, and you didn’t even_ know me _then,” she added hotly before she turned away from him and reached for her ruck._

_She never made it that far. Barris grabbed her by the forearm and turned her around to face him. “That’s what you think I’ve been doing this all for? Because I doubt your competence?”_

_She opened her mouth to answer, but he never gave her the chance. “Maker's breath, Trev! Astrid beat you until you nearly lost consciousness not even three weeks ago. For fuck’s sake, your stitches only came out two days before we left for the field!” Barris only pulled out the strong swear words when he thought things were especially dire, so his use of profanity rattled her a little._

\---------

She was suddenly aware of how quiet it was in the store, and realized neither she nor Barris had said anything for at least a minute. He was looking at her expectantly. She stared back at him, and something itched at the back of her brain.

For the first time since she’d found him standing in the store, Tressa considered the notion that Delrin Barris might be there for legitimate reasons. Like actually interviewing for the job Velanna had posted, even if the idea sounded entirely bonkers. Why would he need a job? He was a Templar, and even if he hadn’t graduated the program yet, his family was loaded. Not that Barris had ever been a spendthrift. The entire time they’d trained together at the Spire, he had spent his money on exactly what it was earmarked for without deviation.

No, that wasn’t expressly true. He had rearranged funds once or twice, but that had always been at Tressa’s poking and prodding. Any errant behavior on his part, no matter how tame, was usually her fault.

Even if he wasn’t there to seek legitimate employment, “interviewing” him might allow her to gather more data. Stall for more time, and maybe by some miracle, someone else would walk into the store and make him think twice about trying to apprehend her.

You know. If that was actually what he was there to do.

_All right, then. Wipe the slate, and look at the problem again, Teresa._

_Shut up, Imaginary Morrigan._

The fact Barris had come into the Emporium unarmed would have been a point in his favor, if he wasn’t still holding a metal goblet the size of her forearm. She glanced at his hand, then his face, and back again twice before his eyes moved from her to the cup. Even without words, he seemed to understand what she was trying to tell him ( _almost like old times_ ), and set the chalice down on the glass countertop.

Tressa let out a breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding. She side stepped so that she was half in front of the point-of-sale machine, brushing the pewter cup off the counter as she did so. As it clanged onto the floor near her feet, Barris knotted his brow and cocked his head, obviously bewildered by her actions. She ignored him and grabbed the computer mouse, clicking around the screen until she found the shortcut for her email account. At least if she wrote all her notes down in an email draft, she could send it off in a click if things went bad.

"Now that the introductions are done with,” she began as she settled her hands on the keyboard, “we can get started. Can you tell me a little about yourself?"

Barris’ jaw dropped and he gaped at her for a moment before he said, “ _Seriously_ , Trev?”

Scowling at her computer display, she muttered, “Interviewee displays inability to handle simple directives such as, ‘Don’t call me by that nickname,’” as she typed the same thing into the email window on her screen.

He sighed. “Tressa. I--have no idea how to answer that question.” He scratched at the back of his head. “You want the full biography or the bullet points?”

“You’re the last interview of the day,” she said, “so I’ve got nothing but time. How about you split the difference?”

He gave her a look she used to be well acquainted with. It was the one Barris used when he thought she was being utterly ridiculous. She looked at him and raised her chin in challenge, refusing to give him an inch. He huffed, but relented. “I’m the second son of a minor bann, so I did the expected thing and went into service in the Chantry. Enlisted at the age of 14. Trained to be a Templar until earlier this year. I took a leave of absence due to family issues a month before I was to take my vows. I moved here to find a job and maybe finish my education.”

“Interesting. Was it only the 'family issue' that made you leave the program so close to completion, or was there something else?”

“I _did_ say I took the leave because of the issues.”

“Most people accept or ask for furlough because they know they’ll have the option of going back. That’s why it’s not called ‘quitting’ or ‘discharge due to unusual circumstances,’ or . . . something.” Tressa looked back at her screen and resumed typing.

“Fine, yes, I left because of family issues. I may not go back because you’re standing here in front of me.”

Her fingers stuttered to a stop on the keyboard, but she kept her eyes on her monitor. “That’s an awfully forward thing to say during an interview with your potential boss.”

\---------

 _His eyes flicked up to her hairline, where she knew the skin was still scabbed over in places. Then they roamed down to the bridge of her nose, which was probably never going to be entirely straight again unless she succumbed to vanity and looked into cosmetic surgery. His gaze came back up to her widened eyes as he continued. “I don’t know why she has it in for you, and I don’t much care. What_ I _do care about is that she’s made it abundantly clear to anyone with eyes that she’s just biding her time until she can take another run at you._ You _may have glossed over that fact, but_ I _haven’t.”_

_Tressa hadn’t missed the daggers Astrid had been glaring at her every time they crossed paths since that day in hand-to-hand training. The trouble was, she knew she couldn’t do anything about it. Nothing except watch her own back and do her best to never give the other recruit an opening. “I’m not stupid, Barris. I know she’s gunning for me, but you cannot fight my battles for me.”_

_“That isn’t what I’m trying to--”_

_“What the hell do you call all this, then?”_

_“I call it using what little power I have at the moment to keep you safe!”_

_She threw her hands up. “That’s the same Maker-damned thing!”_

_He grabbed both her wrists and pulled her hands down in between them. “Trev--”_

_Hands thus restrained, she had no option but to raise up on her toes to get in his face. “No, don’t you 'Trev,' me! I don’t need a babysitter or a bodyguard, Barris. I know what I’m doing.”_

_“And I’m not saying you don’t! I’m just trying to minimize her chances of getting the drop on you.”_

_“Without even asking me if I wanted, or needed--”_

_“We haven’t been alone long enough to discuss it since--”_

_“Would you even have listened if we_ **had** _?” Tressa rocked back on her heels and tried to pull away, but Barris held fast._

_Which is how they both wound up tripping over her rucksack, and landing one on top of the other on the floor of the tent._

_Their foreheads knocked together as they hit the ground, and Tressa felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her. They both swore at the impact, and reached up to rub at the spot where their heads had made contact. With her eyes squeezed shut and a bruise probably forming on her face, Tressa sucked in a breath and then couldn’t stop something between a chuckle and a groan from coming out. She expected Barris to ask her just what was so funny, but the question never came. Instead, she felt him brush her fingers aside as he ran his thumb over the tender spot where his head had collided with hers._

_Tressa opened her eyes and found her field of vision dominated by Barris’ face. From this distance, she noticed for the first time that his eyes, which she thought were just a clear, bright green, had variations to them. The outer rims were a darker, cloudier green, and the area around his pupils were flecked with bits of of the same color._

_She also noticed he was staring back at her just as hard as she was staring at him._

\---------

Barris rolled his eyes. “I don’t mean that romantically, Tre--ssa.” He stumbled over her name, but that fact brought her little satisfaction. He scrubbed a hand over his eyes, covering them briefly, then let it drop to the counter. “You _disappeared!_ We get back from . . . from field maneuvers, and a week later there’s a notice saying you’ve had a crisis of faith or something, and you’ve taken off!” He scraped his blunted fingernails along his scalp. “There’s no one I have ever met who wanted into the Seeker program more than you. I didn’t believe for a second that you suddenly just. . .changed your mind, and picked up and left. But I had no idea what to do.” All of that had poured out of him in a rush and petered out at the end, his tone going from incredulous to uncertain.

Tressa tried not to react, but about the time the plastic shell of the computer mouse creaked under the strain of her white-knuckled grip, she knew she was failing spectacularly. “I find that fascinating, since all you had to do was _check your email_ and you would have known _exactly_ what had happened.” She hadn’t meant to growl, but that was the only way to really describe how she sounded to her own ears. _Oh, to the Void with it._

He froze and dropped his hand to his side. Then he narrowed his eyes at her, his expression quizzical. “What are you talking about? The only email I received was the Spire’s. That same generic one they send out when one of us washes out or leaves. I never got anything from you.”

 _“Bullshit.”_ Her emotions were getting the better of her, but she couldn’t seem to keep them from boiling over. Just one look at Barris’ face told her that. He looked visibly taken aback at her vehemence.

He blinked several times before seeming to come back to himself. “Why would I lie? How do I even prove I never got them? Did you get some sort of electronic receipt saying I did?”

Tressa took a deep breath and held it in hopes of getting herself under control. Unfortunately, it didn’t work. Everything she’d kept bottled up since she had been tossed out of the Spire and left to rot exploded out of her like soda released from a shaken-up can. She glared at him so hard her head began to ache. “I emailed you every. single. _blighted_ day for six months. No bounce notifications. No mail failures. _Nothing_.”

“And that doesn’t seem odd to you? In the entire time we knew each other, did I _ever_ ignore a message you sent me?”

 _I believed a lot of things back then._ It was why she kept right on sending emails, even though nothing came of it. Morrigan was the one who had finally convinced her to stop. She said Tressa would never be able to move forward if she didn’t cut the ties that were holding her in place. So, she did.

It had never once occurred to her that Barris hadn’t received any of her missives. Two-plus years around Josephine and all her tech expertise gave Tressa some ideas on why they wouldn’t have gotten through, but before that? With hindsight came clarity, but she couldn’t seem to make the anger go away, even if it might be misplaced.

She swallowed thickly around the lump that had formed in her throat ( _don’t you **dare** cry over this, damn you, now isn’t the time_ ) and wrenched her eyes away from Barris’ face.

\---------

_Tressa brought her hand up to brush her fingers across Barris’ forehead, checking to see if any damage had been done. Then she ran them down the side of his face to where the tent flap had hit him. She couldn’t tell if her heart was hammering in her chest from the fight they’d been having, or from the soft touches, or from winding up in their current position. The idea of it being the latter was ridiculous, as it wasn’t the first time she’d been pinned to the floor by this man. It happened during combat training more often than she would readily admit._

_This just happened to be the first time she landed such where she actually liked it._

_Barris still had his hand on her face, though it had moved from her forehead to cup her cheek, but his eyes hadn’t strayed. The intensity of his gaze was overwhelming, so Tressa lowered her eyes to his mouth. That only made things worse, because as soon as she did, she started getting. . .ideas. Colossally bad ones, if she was honest.  It wasn’t like she hadn’t had these thoughts from time to time before now. She just never seriously entertained them because there were a million reasons why following through was out of the question._

_The pathways from her brain to the rest of her must have been jostled by the hard landing, because the rest of her just wasn’t getting the message._

_Barris must have been having a similar issue, because when she lifted her head off the ground, he met her halfway._

_Their noses bumped, as neither of them had apparently known which way the other was going to tilt their head, and they each pulled back slightly. Taking it as a sign this was definitely not meant to happen, Tressa let her head drop back to the ground._

_Barris, it seemed, disagreed with her silent conclusion, because he followed her down and wasted no time figuring out a course correction._

_The moment their lips met, her eyelids fluttered shut. His lips were soft and plush but also a little chapped around the edges, and even though the kiss was close-mouthed and their lips were barely moving, it felt far from chaste. By the wave of heat that swept through her, Tressa could scarcely believe they were still clothed and not doing something downright salacious._

_She sucked his lower lip in between her teeth, and he groaned. The self-satisfied smirk that started to form on her face stopped dead when he licked at her upper lip. She gasped, and he took advantage of her parted lips, slipping his tongue into her mouth, sliding it along the roof and swirling around her tongue. She nipped the tip of his tongue when he slid it back out of her mouth, and Barris made a strangled noise in the back of his throat. Tressa brought both her hands up to wrap around the back of his neck, and he moved the hand holding her face to the back of her head, fingernails snagging in the confines of her braided hair._

_Barris moved his mouth away from hers, and the whine in her throat morphed into a breathless moan when his lips moved down her chin and beyond. He trailed soft, sucking kisses down her throat as she tipped her head back, and hooked a leg around his waist. He hummed his approval against her neck, and Tressa smiled to herself as she brought her other leg up to join the first--_

_And then she froze, because she heard it before he did: the sound of a twig snapping beneath someone’s foot somewhere outside._

\---------

“I never expected to be expelled, either, but lookie there: that happened.” She was now pounding the keys hard enough to make the keyboard slide incrementally across the glass with each character she typed. Tressa had wondered what sort of story their superiors might have spun to explain her sudden departure. Wondered how many people bought it without question. She had never settled on a likely excuse, and she tried not to dwell on it often. At least now she knew what they’d been telling everyone.

And that at least one person (allegedly) hadn’t believed it.

Somehow, seeing Barris’ look of utter shock out of the corner of her eye was far from gratifying. “ _That’s_ what happened? You were _expelled_?” When she didn’t respond, he put both his hands on the counter and leaned across it until his face was forced into her line of sight. “You want to know why I need a job? I ran up Dad’s credit card running around the Marches and Ferelden trying to find _you_!” Her gaze snapped to his face as he barreled onward. “In addition to the family troubles, I have to pay off the card myself."

He held her gaze for a few moments more before he pushed back from the counter, looking like he had come to some sort of decision. “That much I can prove.” He raised his hands up until they were level with his shoulders. “I'm going to take my phone out of my pocket and bring up my email account with the flight reservations and confirmations on it.  Maybe once you see that, you'll know I didn't get your messages. I certainly can't prove I didn't delete them, but…” His voice trailed off while he awaited her acquiescence. Tressa nodded once, and he nodded at her in return.

“Jo would know how,” she murmured without thinking as Barris slowly reached in his pocket to get his phone.

He glanced up at her as he swiped his thumb across the lock screen to input his password. “Jo?”

 _Shit. Watch your mouth, dumbass!_ “Nevermind,” was all Tressa said in reply.

“Uh. . .sure.” He looked down at his phone again, swiping and clicking on different screens. “Whoever this 'Jo' is. . .if _they_ want to crawl through my email and find out why I didn’t get the messages that would have saved me _months_ of worry and fear that you were _**dead**_ , then by all means.” His eyebrows drew together, and she could see he was fighting to keep his face neutral as he tossed his phone on the counter. She couldn’t keep from wincing as it clattered against the glass. “They can have at it.”

Tressa looked back and forth between the phone and Barris before she picked it up. As she scrolled through dozens of emails filled with itineraries and confirmations (Maker, he’d set up an email filter just to keep them all together in their own folder), he added tersely, “Might have saved me several hundred thousand dollars, too.” He had his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans and was studying the ear piercing station at the other end of the counter, rather than looking at her.

It could have been a setup to gain her cooperation. . .but it looked pretty damn convincing, even to her well-trained eyes. Tressa sucked in a ragged breath and contemplated what she was seeing. She’d spent so long believing he didn’t care, had _never_ cared, that the moment she fell from grace he decided she was worthless to him (why else would he ‘ghost’ her like that, when she kept reaching out?). . .

The new information clashed with the old in her head, and the cognitive dissonance it caused was enough to make it difficult to think. Or breathe. Or pay attention to what she was doing, because when he glanced in her direction again, his eyes widened and he shook his head.

“No, hey. . .don’t. I know that look. Don’t go down that road.” Barris grabbed the hand holding the phone, and Tressa started at the contact. He looked down at their hands and cleared his throat.  He loosened his grip and she slid her hand out from under his. “I chose my mistakes. It wouldn’t even have been a big deal except for someone using my brother’s account access to embezzle funds from. . .nevermind. This is just. . .this is the only thing I can do to help my family.” He swallowed and looked up at her with hooded eyes. “I _needed_ to know you were okay. I never believed you had any sort of crisis at all.”

 _I sure fucking am_ **now** _._ She kept that thought to herself, and shook her head at nothing in particular. Which, of course, gave Barris the wrong idea.

“Come on, Trev. You have to--”

“I don’t _have_ to do anything,” she snapped. “You don't get to be annoyed that I'm at the wrong mile marker when it turns out we weren't even using the same _map_."

"That doesn't make any sense, Tressa."

Tressa closed her eyes and tried to figure out how to make him understand. "What I mean is, you've had ages to come to terms with this, and I've only just gotten to it."

"What, that I'm broke?  And it's not your fault?"

“Except it kind of is.” She had suspected, had _known_ she’d be the thing that ruined him. She’d known, and she’d ignored it in favor of listening to her stupid, selfish heart.

“ _ **No.**_ ” Her eyes snapped open at his declaration, which is all it could be called, really, given the conviction with which he said it. Barris was leaning over the counter again, bending down and tilting sideways so he could catch her eyes. “No, it isn’t. It’s the Spire’s, actually. They kicked you out without letting you say anything to anyone. Kicked out half a dozen others right after you, too. Same bogus story.” He leaned back and her eyes followed his progress. “I’m not an idiot. I can tell when I’m being played.” Barris gave her a tentative, lopsided smile. “Didn't you always tell me it sucked to be opposite me on search drills?”

She gave him a flat look. "There were multiple reasons for that."

His boyish smile turned slightly wicked. “Well, hiding _with_ you was a lot more enjoyable.”

 ** _Fuck._** _That_ threw her off balance. His flirting always had. Tressa wasn’t naive; Barris could be trying to throw her off for a multitude of reasons. He might be sincere. . .or he might not. The urge to fall into old patterns was strong, and it unnerved her. “I'm not even going to dignify that with a response, because I never did _anything_ inappropriate during those drills."

“Oh, certainly never. Especially not during a particularly memorable incident in a storage closet in a shopping center.”

She felt her cheeks start to heat up at that. _Damn you, Delrin._

“Stuck in a tight, enclosed space, squeezed together, pretending to be terrified apostates.” She looked away from him, but he kept right on going. “‘Getting into character’ by--”

She caved. “Don’t you dare insinuate such a thing. You know that’s not how it went!”

He chuckled. “I’m just saying I liked the times we were never found.”

“Yeah, because that meant we could rub everyone else's noses in it. And by ‘we,’ I mean ‘you’.”

“Bragging rights were always the best. So was getting first dibs on partners and equipment for the next round.”

“You picked me so often they assumed that’s why we kept winning, and they had to write in a new rule about not having the same partner more than two rounds in a row.”

“A fact I still wear as a badge of pride, thank you very much. Being written into the rulebook is a pretty big deal.”

There wasn’t much Tressa could say to that, so the conversation lulled. While the silence stretched, her mind backtracked to something Barris had said earlier. "Wait. . .embezzlement? What's happened to the estate?" She knew she could possibly be falling (further) into a trap, but being aware of it meant she was already one step ahead, right?

Barris sobered a bit at the change in subject. He rubbed the back of his neck and looked away. “I can’t actually say much while there’s an investigation ongoing. The Crown’s on our side, though, and the whole thing looks as suspicious as. . .a nug painted with kaddis.”

The mental image that conjured caused Tressa to laugh out loud. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly, covering her mouth with her fingers. “I don’t mean to laugh, but that is definitely a. . .colorful description.”

He blinked at her for a moment, then gave her a wry look. “Oh, ha, ha. Nicely done, that.”

Tressa resisted the urge to smack her own forehead at her unintentional pun. “Sorry,” she said again. “I just--Peyton wouldn’t do something like this. I know he wouldn’t.”

“No, he wouldn’t, which is why I think the boyfriend did it. My brother has terrible taste in men.”

“You mean he stopped working long enough to have a social life? Shocking.”

Barris pulled a face. “It’s a bit worse than that.” He paused, letting out a long, drawn out breath. “He. . .slept with one of the foremen. Or, it might be more accurate to say one of the foremen seduced _him_.”

Tressa felt her eyebrows climb towards her hairline as her eyes nearly bugged out of her skull. “Oh, Peyton. . .you poor, gullible, adorable idiot,” she groaned softly, and shook her head. She had gathered from previous interactions that Peyton never much liked her, but the feeling had never been mutual. She had always admired his steadfastness and dedication where his family was concerned. And he’d never been mean, he was just. . .distant, when it came to her.

_Well. . .you can’t win them all._

“That about sums it all up, yeah. The guy had access to his computer, probably his passwords. Peyton says he set him up with his own company login and ID, but. . .” Barris shrugged. “It all makes my brother look complicit in this madness, when in reality--”

“Peyton's just an idiot.”

“Yes. He is.” Barris drummed his fingers on the glass countertop and sighed. “So, because of my brother, I didn’t know my family couldn’t keep current on the card, and I ran it up. I certainly would have found a different way to fund my search, had I known.” His hand stilled and he looked up at her. “And here we are.”

The abrupt segue was jarring, and Tressa struggled to find a useful response. “So. . .why look for work in Haven?”

“It’s near two universities if I don’t go back to the program. Halfway between South Reach and Val Royeaux in case I do. Close enough I can still get home if they need me, but far enough away that I can live my own life, I guess.”

When she didn’t reply, he asked, “But why are you in _Haven_? It’s not a big enough city to stay anonymous in.”

She rolled her eyes. “I know you know my surname isn’t Brennokovic. Did _you_ have any idea I was here before you walked in?”

The moment she said it, she wished she hadn’t, because his face became unreadable.

“I didn’t,” he said, finally. “So, point in your favor. I got lucky. Or maybe Andraste was finally listening. Maker’s _breath_ , Tressa, you’re--”

He reached out for her then, and purely on instinct, she caught his hand with one of hers before it could reach any other part of her. “Here I am,” she said, voice soft and maybe a little hysterical. “Not dead. Though, I’m not entirely convinced I’m not in hell,” she said with the ghost of a grin.

“I think hell would be a lot. . .worse.”

Tressa looked up at the ceiling and gasped out a breathless laugh. “I work in a place called the Black Emporium, and I’ve worked open-to-close for the last four days. If that’s not retail hell, I don’t know what is.” _And that's just the day job. If you knew what else I've been doing. . ._

“Oh, well, retail hell is a lot different. But I am here to rescue you from that, aren’t I, fair maid?” Her gaze dropped from the rafters to his face. “Do you have a dragon I need to slay to prove my worth?”

It was an old joke between them. It stemmed from a discussion in literature focused on a certain bit of Starkhaven folklore. It had occurred early in their acquaintance, and it was a source of endless amusement as far as Barris was concerned. He leaned forward and whispered, “And when we flee these cavernous depths. . .try not to look back. I hear it’s a bad idea.”

That startled another laugh out of her, and without thinking, she said, “So, where are you staying?” Again, she regretted her words as soon as she spoke them. _Are you **sure** you’re a grown adult with full control of her faculties? Way to be creepy, Tressa._

For once, it seemed Tressa had managed to unbalance _him_ for a change. “Uh. . .I. . .well, I’d rather not,” Barris coughed, and rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand.

“Sorry, that probably seems horribly random. It’s just. . .knowing your financial situation. . .,” She trailed off as she untangled her fingers from his and went back to the keyboard. “I just want to make sure you’re not getting fleeced by some arsehole, I guess.”

Barris smiled weakly. “It’s a dive. . .but it’s paid weekly. I can’t leave anything there, and I had to prove the first night I had a weapon and knew what to do with it.” He wrinkled his nose. “And I may have to burn everything I own eventually, but it’ll let me pay off the debt sooner.”

Tressa bit her lip, and kept typing at the computer. “Having no rent at all would probably be safer. And. . .cheaper,” she said, aiming for nonchalance.

“That’s absurd. I can’t not pay rent, Tressa.”

She looked down at her hands and gave a half-shrug. “You can if someone has a spare room and doesn’t want to charge you.”

In her head, mental versions of Morrigan, Velanna, _and_ Josephine all screamed in unison, _”Have you lost your **mind**?”_

\---------

_It had the same effect as dousing her in ice water. Tressa’s eyelids shot open and every reason this was probably a bad idea came crashing in. “No,” she gasped out, unwinding her hands from behind his neck and shoving at his shoulders. “No, no, no, no, no, we can’t do this.”_

_Barris stopped what he was doing and dropped his head to rest on her collarbone. Her legs dropped from his waist, and she couldn’t tell if it was her chest or his that was rising and falling rapidly, but she could hear him trying to catch his breath._

_“I’m sorry.” His words were spoken against her chest and she shivered at the feel of his breath rolling across her flesh. He used his free hand to push himself up and away from her. His face was less than a foot away from hers, and he faced her with his eyes screwed shut and expression uncertain. “I’m not even sure how. . .I didn’t mean to. . .bollocks, I’m an idiot.” As he struggled to form a complete sentence, Tressa realized her mistake._

_She reached up to cup his face with her hands, her thumbs running over his cheekbones. “No, I’m sorry,” she whispered, “because I must not have been clear enough. I meant we can’t do this_ **here** _.”_

_He opened his eyes and gave her a confused look. “O. . .kay.”_

_“If we do this here, someone is going to find out.”_

_Barris huffed out a laugh, confusion giving way to exasperation. “We’re in the privacy of our own tent, Trev.”_

_“Yes, a tent in the middle of nowhere. . .surrounded by other tents. Filled with people. This privacy,” she said, waving one hand around to indicate their tent, “is an illusion.”_

_He blinked at her several times, and when she realized where his mind was going, she made an exasperated sound of her own. “Maker’s balls, no, I don’t mean a literal illusion! I mean the. . .psychological. . .” she trailed off a bit as he pulled his hand out of her hair and shifted his weight, and she nearly lost her train of thought, “. . .mental. . .social construct sort of. . .thing.” She covered her face with her hands. “This is not an easy conversation to have when you’re still on top of me.”_

_He rolled himself until he was laying on his back next to her. She pulled her hands away from her face and turned her head to look at him. He looked up at the ceiling of the tent, and said, “Are you really that worried about anyone finding out?” His tone was one she couldn’t decipher. “I mean, it isn’t like people don’t already assume--.” He cut himself off, and sighed. Then he sat up, bending his legs and resting his arms on his knees. Tressa had a good view of his back, but his face was turned away from her._

_She ran through their conversation again, and her eyes widened as realization dawned. She sat up quickly and reached for his shoulder, trying to get him to face her. After a few tugs on his t-shirt, he relented and turned to look at her. “Are you worried that I’m concerned about being found out because I’m ashamed of. . .whatever this,” she motioned back and forth between them, “is? Or could be?”_

_Barris just looked at her over his shoulder, his eyes difficult to read. She shook her head at him. “That is_ not _the point I was trying to make. I could never be embarrassed of you. Besides, I’m a walking embarrassment all on my own.”_

 _He choke-coughed at that, but he also smiled a little, which was an improvement over the brooding. “You are not_ that _bad.”_

_She felt one of the corners of her mouth lift up into a half-smile. “Clearly, or we wouldn’t have wound up. . .like we did.” When he didn’t say anything, she sighed and looked behind her towards her bedroll. “What I was getting at was, if we do this here, someone is going to find out, and it’ll undermine everything you’ve worked to gain.”_

_Tressa heard him shift next to her. “_ That _is what you’re worried about?” His response was louder than she expected, which caused her to whip her head back in his direction._

_“Yes!”_

_Barris looked at her like she was completely daft, and that annoyed her._

_Tressa moved until she sat cross-legged facing the front of the tent. “Like you said, they’re already making assumptions,” she said, “but no one has ever confirmed those assumptions to be true or not. Of course, there wasn’t anything to prove or disprove until about three minutes ago.” She paused, considering her next words carefully. “If this becomes an actual. . .thing, they’ll jump to the conclusion it was the real reason you wanted me in here. Not things like maintaining “unit cohesion” and “team dynamics,” and all those other buzzwords you tossed out when the instructors were questioning you.” She sighed, because she knew he wasn’t going to like what she said next. “You’re so close to declaring specialization, and what happens out here with you being lead will influence whether or not you’re fast-tracked. You’ve worked too hard for this, and I am_ not _going to be the reason it gets ruined. I refuse.” She swallowed thickly, unsure exactly when her throat got so tight._

_Tressa heard Barris move somewhere behind her. “Trev…,” he began._

_She blurted out the very next thing that came to mind, cutting him off. “Oh, Andraste’s tits, if Astrid gets wind of it, Maker only knows what she’ll do with_ **that** _information. . .”_

_She felt him sit right behind her. “Trev--,” he tried again, and again, she ignored him._

_“Shit, and I’m going to have to rotate out with someone at least twice for the rest of the week if we’re going to keep people from thinking--”_

_Barris’ face appeared in her peripheral vision, and he reached around her to quickly turn her head until she was looking at him. “_ **Tressa** _.”_

_Anything else she was going to say fizzled out at the sound of her real name on his lips. Her heartbeat sped up again, and she swallowed, remaining silent as he looked at her. Whatever he saw must have amused him, because he chuckled and shook his head. “How you can be aggravating at the very same time you’re being selfless, I don’t think I will ever understand.”_

_Tressa didn’t really know what to say to that, so she went with the obvious. “I don’t think you’ve ever called me that before,” she said, barely above a whisper._

_He smiled and pulled her forward until he could rest his forehead against hers. “First names haven’t ever really been our thing, I guess.”_

_“Nope.”_

_They were quiet for a while, and even with his face so close to hers, she couldn’t look at him. She also couldn’t bring herself to pull away, either, so she kept her eyes fixed on the collar of his t-shirt, and waited. About the time things felt like they were getting awkward, he said, “Might be able to get used to it.”_

_Tressa still couldn’t look at him, her nerves already frayed from all the tension. “Maybe,” she said quietly. “In the right setting.”_

_“Hmm,” was all he said, and the silence stretched again. Her neck was getting a little sore from being twisted and held in place, but he spoke again before she could move. “The setting’s pretty good right now.”_

_He gave a half-shrug as her eyes came up to meet his. Tressa laughed nervously, and said, “Well, yeah, Del, it’s nice if you--mmph!” The rest of her response was lost in the small, surprised squeal she gave as his lips crashed into hers._

_Delrin pulled back just enough to ask, “Is this okay?”_

_Tressa nodded and barely got out, “Yes--,” before he kissed her again._

\---------

She really needed to have her head examined, but there was nothing for it now. The words were already out there in the world, and she couldn’t take them back.

Barris’ shock was instantaneous. “Tressa! I can’t accept something like that, it just. . .wouldn’t be right. Why. . .why would you even do that?”

She moved away from the point-of-sale machine and looked him in the eyes. "Because you can tell me from first moonrise to sun up and back again that your predicament isn't my fault, but I'm still not going to believe it.” She looked down at her hands, which she had started twisting together idly.  “Besides, I have a whole other bedroom that's never been used.”

 _And this way I can keep an eye on you, in case this is exactly what I think it is,_ she told herself.

 _Oh, yes, certainly. You are only being practical._ Even Morrigan’s imaginary counterpart couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of her voice when dealing with Tressa.

**_Shut. Up. Morrigan._ **

“Why would you even want me there? A few minutes ago, you hated me.”

“ _No,_ ” she said a little too loudly. She took a deep breath and licked her lips. “I didn’t--don’t--hate you. No matter how hard things have been, I don’t think I even have the capacity to hate you.” She looked up at him through her eyelashes. “Do you remember what I used to say about Seekers?”   _Seekers hunt for the truth. The truth doesn’t have an agenda._

He nodded. “Yeah. I do. Are you sure _you_ don’t have an agenda?”

 _The Maker **take you,** Barris._ “I mean, you don’t have to say yes, but the only real agenda I have is to help fix something I had a hand in breaking.”

Barris looked like he wanted to beat his head against the counter. “Sometimes, Tressa, your desire to take responsibility for every little thing is truly frustrating.” He shook his head at her. “If it will make you feel better, then fine, I’ll take your guest room. But I’m paying you what I’m paying the weekly.”

“No, you’re not, because that defeats the entire purpose. If you insist on paying rent, then we split it 50/50 like normal people do.”

“. . .Fine.”

“Well, don’t go getting all overjoyed about it, or anything.”

Sarcasm, as was typical, caught him off guard, and he chuckled. “I will be happy to pay half the rent. When, and how much?”

“We can work that out later. It’s already paid for this month, anyway.” She reached across the counter and poked him in the chest none-too-gently. “And no, food and utilities are not included. I never said anything about feeding you.”

“That’s a relief. I remember you being an indifferent cook.”

“Like you were much better, rich boy,” she said, her tone teasing. “I will have you know I’ve picked up a thing or two while I’ve been . . . away.”

“That I’d like to see.”

Tressa opened her mouth to retort, but was cut off by a new voice joining the conversation from the back of the store. “If that’s the case, I suggest you stay away from anything Orlesian. It’s really not her forte.”

She and Barris both turned in the direction of the newcomer.

A dark-skinned woman in a black, knee-length tank dress and a gold satin blouse underneath it rounded the bookshelves and walked toward the counter. “Though, she does make fajitas about as good as any native,” she continued as she slid a slim tablet computer into the designer bag hanging from her arm.

Tressa thought her heart might thud right through her chest and onto the floor as she glanced behind her at her pink sticky note reminder and back to where Josephine stood.

 _What. . .the. . ._ **fuck** _?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to [galtori](http://galtori.tumblr.com/) from Tumblr for being an amazing beta. Many thanks to all of our readers and fans both here and elsewhere on the 'net. We <3 you so hard. :)
> 
> If you have questions about Maker's Mark, or any other stuff, follow [Sia](http://siawrites.tumblr.com/) and [LunaMax1214](http://lunamax1214.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr. (That is also where many fangirl shenanigans go down.)


End file.
